


we keep being us (and we do better)

by sobsicles



Series: Doing Better [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Artist Clarke Griffin, Basically Bellamy gets left behind as well as Clarke, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, Bellamy PoV, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Clarke and Bellamy raise Madi, Clarke pov, Dealing With Trauma, Depictions of Triage Medicine, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Ironic moments, Madi is Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin's Child, Not nearly as heavy as the actual show but still heavy in moments, Pining, Reminiscing on old friends and old lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Smut but like...not super explicit, diverges from the end of s4, like a glacial burn, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 86,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24444889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobsicles/pseuds/sobsicles
Summary: “Bellamy! You—you need to go back, now. Turn around and run. There's a manual override, but it won't give us enough time. We won't make it back. Not both of us.”“If you think I'm leaving you here, you're insane. Tell me how to override it, and you go back.”“You'll die if you stay behind,” Clarke grits out, yanking the pack and cord and glancing at her watch. Just under ten minutes now. Her heart stutters. “Bellamy, if you don't go now—”“I'm not leaving you,” Bellamy says fiercely, reaching out to grasp the pole of the tower, mimicking her motions with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Either we both make it, or neither of us do. Now tell me what to do, and let's get it done.”Clarke closes her eyes briefly, swallowing down her frustration and grief. Now isn't the time for it. She knows that changing Bellamy’s mind is next to impossible when he's dead-set on something. She just wishes he wasn't so set on dying alongside her.“Climb,” Clarke snaps, then proceeds to take her own advice, focusing on the task at hand.~~~Or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke are stranded together on the last inhabitable patch of earth for six years and seven days.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Doing Better [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824922
Comments: 323
Kudos: 888





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, I don't even go here. I'm very new to the fandom, so to speak. I remember seeing things all over tumblr about it years ago, but I never got into until this Pandemic hit. I was looking for a show to binge-watch that had more than three seasons, and my fiance and I had talked about watching The 100 before. 
> 
> So, we decided to watch. We got seven episodes in before they decided to go to sleep, and I broke the cardinal rule of continuing to watch a show without my partner. I just couldn't help it; I had to see more. It took me about three or four days to devour all six seasons, and you could say I was a casual viewer in a sense. 
> 
> As far as ships go, I don't hate any of them. But, from what I can see, Bellamy and Clarke have been in love for quite a while so...
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I started looking on Tumblr and reading fics, and I knew it was only a bit of time before I wrote a fic for them on my own. I just didn't expect it to be this one, or that it would end up over 80k. So, yeah, you could say I've fallen into this and can't get up. 
> 
> So, please be gentle. I don't bash any characters, or ships, or gloss over any details. I try to keep it as close to canon as possible, so keep that in mind--meaning that things will get sad and dark at times, but never for long. Most of all, just have fun and enjoy, because I sure as shit did.

“Run fast, both of you.” 

Clarke and Bellamy share a look, one that speaks volumes. They don't have any time to waste, nor do they have the luxury of helping a stumbling Monty inside. The opportunity to linger has long since passed. Time is working against them now. 

With one last nod to Raven, they turn and start running as fast and hard as they can. The terrain is rough and the stakes are high. One misstep and everything can go sideways quickly, and yet, Clarke finds herself stumbling more than usual, feeling unbalanced as she pushes herself faster. Bellamy has longer legs and he uses them to stay a step ahead at all times. Knowing what must be done, she calls his name and manages to toss him the pack mid-run. He'll reach the tower a few moments before she will, giving him more time to get the task done. 

As predicted, he's at the base of the tower, pulling something out of the pack as she comes to a stumbling halt next to him. He's mumbling under his breath, and it takes her a moment to realize what he's repeating over and over. 

“Sad Star One, Sad Star One, Sad Star—” 

“There!” Clarke blurts out, jolting forward to point to the source of what they're looking for. 

Bellamy grins at her in relief, fumbling to follow Raven’s instructions. It's not overly complicated, but Clarke knows it's not their strong suit either. Bellamy is a leader, first and foremost, just like Clarke. They have their specialties—hunting, medical knowledge. They have their hobbies—history, art. But, overall, this task is better suited for Monty or Raven, both of which can't do it. 

“Disc not aligned, disc not aligned, disc not—” 

“What did I do wrong?” Bellamy asks, growling in the back of his throat as he smacks the side of the unit emitting a disheartening message on repeat. He whips his head around to Clarke, his eyes wide. “Radio Raven. I—It's not working. I don't know what I did.” 

Clarke shoves the radio at Bellamy and nudges him out of the way, dipping down to re-do the same thing he did the first time. When it gives her the same result, she starts to panic a little. She can hear Bellamy barking out questions through the radio, but Raven doesn't seem to be replying. Truly scared now, she reaches out to grasp the lid and look at the faded print of instructions. 

_ Manual override  _ jumps out at her. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says softly, suddenly calm as she turns around to look at him. 

“What, Clarke?” Bellamy snaps, staring at her with wide, helpless eyes. 

Clarke swallows. “You have to go back.” 

“Go back? Did it work? What—” 

“Bellamy! You—you need to go back,  _ now.  _ Turn around and  _ run.  _ There's a manual override, but it won't give us enough time. We won't make it back. Not both of us.” 

Bellamy stares at her for a beat, then shakes his head. “If you think I'm leaving you here, you're insane. Tell me how to override it, and  _ you  _ go back.” 

“You'll die if you stay behind,” Clarke grits out, yanking the pack and cord and glancing at her watch. Just under ten minutes now. Her heart stutters. “Bellamy, if you don't go now—” 

“I'm  _ not  _ leaving you,” Bellamy says fiercely, reaching out to grasp the pole of the tower, mimicking her motions with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Either we both make it, or neither of us do. Now tell me what to do, and let's get it done.” 

Clarke closes her eyes briefly, swallowing down her frustration and grief. Now isn't the time for it. She knows that changing Bellamy’s mind is next to impossible when he's dead-set on something. She just wishes he wasn't so set on dying alongside her. 

“Climb,” Clarke snaps, then proceeds to take her own advice, focusing on the task at hand. 

It comes easy to her to push away her feelings and do what has to be done. Since she set foot on the ground, she's been doing that. Survival pushes people to do impossible things, she's learned, and this is no exception. She is very aware that she's going to die, and so is Bellamy, but they still have to make sure their friends make it to Space safely. If they can do that, then their deaths will actually mean something. Everything they've ever done will. 

Clarke makes it to the top first, swinging herself to the platform with a grunt. She wastes no time and opens the pack with one hand while swinging open the lid of the unit. Moments later, Bellamy eases into the open spot behind her, silently watching over her shoulder. There's a tense silence between them that Clarke won't and can't worry about right now. 

“Disc not aligned, disc not aligned, disc not—” 

“Dammit!” Clarke explodes, tilting her head back to look at the disc. Her anger melts into heart wrenching worry when she sees Bellamy climbing up to the disc in question. “Bellamy, what are you—” 

“Tell me when it's aligned!” Bellamy shouts down to her, climbing higher.

Heart in her throat, Clarke turns her gaze past him, staring into the rolling abyss of  _ Praimfaya. _ The sight of it is daunting, every instinct in her body telling her to seek shelter. For her friends, she stays. 

She rips her gaze away from her doom and glances between the disc and the screen. Bellamy grimaces as he strongarms the disc into moving, then makes the same expression when he glances down and she shakes her head. In the distance, there's a sound like a massive explosion, and they both turn their heads to watch the rocket take off. 

“Keep going!” Clarke shouts, blinking the tears out of her eyes. 

Bellamy begins again, straining to move that disc over and over. He checks with her every time, and she feels her heart sink each time she has to shake her head. Frustration grows within her. They just need the right angle, the right—there! 

“Did I get it?” Bellamy shouts down. 

Clarke nods frantically. “You got it! Start climbing down! I'll meet you at the bottom!” 

For once, Bellamy doesn't argue. She gets the signal sent, relief swelling in her chest as she watches it go through. Then her survival instincts kick in and she wastes no more time. Despite knowing it's pointless, she swings her body around the rungs on the tower and climbs down faster than she thought was possible, letting herself fall when she reaches a safe distance. 

“Where will we go?” Bellamy mutters, rubber boots crunching the snow as he walks over and helps her to her feet. They stare at the massive tide of  _ Praimfaya, _ standing side-by-side. 

Clarke sighs quietly. “We may as well go back to the lab. I'd rather starve to death then burn alive, but that's just me. What about you?” 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, throwing her a wry grin, “I'm going to have to agree. If we're going to make it, we have to go now.” 

“So let's go,” Clarke murmurs. 

She glances down when she feels something grasp her glove. Bellamy has reached out to grab her hand with his, and though it's awkward due to their radiation suits, she draws comfort from it. Together, without a word between them, they take off running. 

_ Praimfaya _ is an unforgiving mistress, making the world around them shake and tremble. Tremors underfoot send them off-balance. More than once, they get tossed down to the ground, only to get right back up and keep running, pushing forward, hopelessly trying to live despite there not really being a point. That's survival for you, though. 

Around them, the world burns. 

When they get closer to the entrance, a violent shudder of the earth has Clarke careening to the side, spilling over a log and landing face-first on a branch. For the first time, her hand gets ripped from Bellamy’s and she sucks in a gulp of fresh air once she gets her bearings. A hand is immediately on her elbow, helping her up, and the fresh air on her tongue tastes like smoke—thick and sour. 

That's the first clue to what's happened. The next is opening her eyes and seeing the splintered glass of her radiation mask. She blinks at it in horror, feeling her face itch and burn, and Bellamy curses under his breath. Without preamble, he smacks his hand over the gaping hole and yanks her into a run. He basically has to drag her the rest of the way as the radiation immediately begins to take effect. 

She's choking by the time she gets inside, something thick and rancid rising up her throat. Bellamy slams the doors and rips her helmet off, peering at her with wide, horrified eyes. Clarke vomits. 

“Okay, okay, just breathe,” Bellamy tells her, sounding panicked. He goes to take off his helmet, but Clarke snags his hands in her weak grasp. 

“No,” she manages to choke out. “You'll die. Stay in the suit.  _ Live.”  _

It's a stupid request, but it's her dying wish, and she can only hope that Bellamy will fulfill it for however long he can. Radiation has already taken her, and she won't let that be how he goes. If anyone can make it five years in an abandoned lab with a shitty radiation suit, it's going to be him. 

Exhausted, she drops her hands from him, her eyes fluttering shut. The last thing she sees before she passes out is Bellamy’s determined expression. 

* * *

“There we go, drink a little more. That's it.” 

Clarke groans, weakly reaching out to try and push away the metal against her lips. She's swallowing reflexively, drinking down something someone gives her. It tastes good, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's safe, so she fights her instincts to drink more, trying to turn her head away. 

“Don't fight me on this, Clarke,” comes an exasperated voice. 

Clarke knows that voice. It's Bellamy. Fighting him is the last thing she wants to do; she's so tired of fighting. With a deep exhale through her nose, she drinks whatever Bellamy is giving her, letting it soothe her raw, sandpaper throat. She hears him hum in relief and approval. 

After that, she drifts.

For what feels like forever, she exists only in brief moments. Sometimes, she wakes during pain where she's violently vomiting and every inch of her body feels as if it's on fire. Other times, she becomes aware when nothing hurts and all she can hear is the low rumble of Bellamy’s voice, even if she has no idea what he's saying. She prefers the latter. 

And then, miraculously, she wakes up for real. This time, she exists somewhere in between the pain and relief. She feels tired and hot, has some aches in her limbs, but she feels alive for the first time since the radiation seeped into her helmet. 

“Bellamy?” Clarke rasps, blinking open her eyes and pushing herself to sit up. She's lying down on a table, her radiation suit beneath her as makeshift padding.

“You're awake.” Bellamy rolls over in a chair, beaming at her behind the glass of his helmet. He arches an eyebrow at her. “You  _ are  _ awake this time, right?” 

Clarke stares at him. “Yes, I think so. What happened? How am I—” 

“Alive?” Bellamy prompts. “Well, apparently your blood  _ can  _ withstand the radiation from  _ Praimfaya. _ You got sick, sure, but you made it out fine.” 

“How much time has passed?” Clarke asks. 

Bellamy sighs. “Eight days.” 

_ “Eight?”  _ Clarke sputters, eyes bulging. “How are you even here right now? You should be—”

“Dead?” Bellamy interrupts yet again, his lips twitching. “There are rations here. I've been splitting them between us until you woke up. Thankfully, the lab has a couple of sealed chambers I can crawl into and shut myself off. It lets me take off my helmet to eat and drink, no harm done.” 

“But if you take off your helmet now…” Clarke glances around the room, swallowing thickly. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy answers her unasked question. 

Clarke stares around the lab for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. It's not even a question of what needs to be done, it's just a question of how they're going to do it. Bellamy isn't exactly the pinnacle of a doctor, and the idea of him doing the operation, while in a radiation suit, isn't a practical one. She'll have to do it herself. 

It's going to hurt. Very badly. 

“Here's to hoping Mom didn't destroy  _ everything,”  _ Clarke mutters to herself, swinging her legs over the side of the table and hopping to her feet. 

Bellamy reaches out to grab her arm. “What are you doing? What did Abby destroy?” 

“You need nightblood,” Clarke says simply, shuffling across the room towards her mother’s medical equipment. “You need my bone marrow.” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy protests.

“Don't fight me on this, Bellamy,” Clarke retorts sharply, throwing him a serious look. It's enough to make him snap his mouth shut. “I'm doing this, and you're going to help me.” 

“Even if I could do it, how am I going to inject myself without being exposed to the radiation?” Bellamy raises his eyebrows. 

“You're not doing it.” Clarke takes a deep breath and reaches out for the drill. “I am.” 

Bellamy immediately starts shaking his head. “No. Clarke, that's going to hurt.” 

“Yes, I know that,” she grits out, ignoring him as she looks around the room. “The chamber you've been getting into. How come it doesn't take in the radiation from here?” 

“It dispels out all the air inside.” Bellamy grimaces and crosses his arms. “I can't breathe for a while, but it's better than dying.” 

Clarke nods. “That will work. You'll inject yourself in there. Now, I just need—aha!” 

“Hey, just—just wait a second,” Bellamy says, surging forward to grasp her wrist. “Clarke, we should think about this. It doesn't take a genius to know that you doing this with no anesthetic is going to be—” He stops, his throat working. “I was there, in Mount Weather. I know what it looks like. If you do this…” 

Clarke snatches her hand from his grip, holding his gaze steadily. “I  _ am  _ doing this. It will make sure you survive just like I did. I'm going to need your help drawing out the marrow. I—I can try, but you'll be able to do it quicker.” 

“You don't have to do this, Clarke,” Bellamy whispers.

“Yes,” Clarke says softly, “I do.” 

She's no stranger to pain. In fact, she'd think that she's intimately familiar with it. There's things that have happened to her, things that she's had to do, and all of it has left scars—physical, mental, and emotional. She's suffered superficial pain, cuts and bruises and burns, but the pain that lingers with her all the time comes from the loss she's faced and the choices she's had to make. It weighs on her every day, to the point that she can't remember a time she hasn't felt it. 

So, yes, she knows pain. That doesn't mean she doesn't feel it when she begins slicing into her skin. Her blood bubbles to the surface, black and thick, and she clenches her teeth together so hard that they ache. It doesn't help her hold in her scream that rises up her throat the farther she takes this, but it does muffle it, at least. 

Bellamy’s face screws up and he looks away, only to force himself to watch. He's that type of guy, the one who'll look at what she's doing to herself and put the blame on his own shoulders, like it's his fault. If she were in the state of mind to do it, she'd snap at him for undoubtedly thinking like that, but as it is, she's just trying to get through this as quickly as possible. In the end, she has to ignore him entirely as she gasps out wet breaths and presses on. 

“Here,” Bellamy says, sounding anguished, as if he's the one in pain. He reaches out to help steady her hand as she fumbles for the hollow syringe. 

He helps her through the rest. He draws out the thick marrow, and she groans low in her throat when the hard part is over. All that's left to do is sew her skin back together, which she does with shaking hands and traitorous tears escaping. She knows this pain won't matter later, not when Bellamy will be able to step outside of his suit and live, not when they'll be able to escape the lab and head to the bunker. 

“How long can you go in there before you pass out?” Clarke asks breathlessly, wincing as she smooths a bandage over her stitches—here's to hoping it doesn't get infected. 

Bellamy holds up the syringe. “Let's find out.” 

She feels like death warmed over, but she grabs a ration bar from the counter and follows him anyway. She munches on it, trying to regain some energy as he heads to the chamber, and they share a long look before he flips open the lid and climbs in. When it shuts, he lays the syringe down and reaches out to flip a switch. The chamber makes a low whirring sound, and Clarke watches in discomfort as his body seizes for a moment, gasping for air that isn't there. 

Quickly, he rips the helmet off and shuffles around to get one arm out of the suit. His face is twisted into a grimace, turning red from the lack of oxygen, and Clarke leans on the glass, watching him worriedly. A moment later, he's plunging the syringe into his arm and pushing Clarke's blood into his. 

Not everyone survives this, she knows. Anything could go wrong, or it could take too long, or he could reject the nightblood. All they can do is wait. 

It can't end like this. Clarke won't accept that. They've already survived so much, even  _ Praimfaya _ against all odds, and she won't even entertain the possibility that he might not make it through this. It looks unpleasant on his end, though. He's gone nearly purple now, and he's clawing at his own chest, surging forward with soundless screams as he asphyxiates. She wants to help him, but she knows she can't, not yet. 

Clarke pushes it until Bellamy starts to go limp, his eyes rolling back. He sinks down and goes still, and she can't take it anymore. She just has to hope that it worked, that he'll survive this, too. 

“Bellamy!” Clarke hisses desperately, wrenching open the chamber and dragging him out. They go down in a tumble of limbs, hitting the ground hard, and she listens to him gasp in a deep breath. Scrambling, she manages to grasp his face and stare into his rapidly blinking eyes. “Bellamy, are you—” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy gasps out raggedly, then proceeds to vomit right into their laps. 

* * *

It gets lonely in the lab. 

Clarke wonders how Bellamy passed the time during those eight days she was in and out of it. Probably the same way she does, she imagines. 

She bides her time by taking care of Bellamy. For the first six days, she's sure that he's dying. He doesn't often wake up and can't keep anything down that she gives him. It's touch-and-go for a minute there, his pulse so weak that all she can do is close her eyes and hope. But, for the following six days after the first, he starts to improve—slowly but surely. The radiation burns on his face begin to heal, he starts keeping down rations and water, and he even occasionally wakes up briefly to slur out words. 

They've been in this lab for a total of twenty-one days, and Clarke is beginning to go a little stir-crazy. She wants to get to the bunker as soon as possible, to see her mom, but she wouldn't dare leave Bellamy behind. There's nothing in this world that could push her to do that, so she waits. 

She finds some notes that Abby, Jackson, and Raven had jotted down in their time here, and she often reads them out loud. It brings a small smile to her face to know that they're all alive. Maybe they're not all together, maybe they're not all in the best conditions, but they're still surviving. 

It's all she's ever wanted. Just the survival of her people, and eventually, the chance at peace. She knows that she has done all she can do, as well as Bellamy, and their people have to make it without them now. Clarke believes they can and will. 

“Clarke…” Bellamy mumbles. 

Her head snaps up from her drawing that she's been doodling for days, and she sees Bellamy’s eyes fluttering. She grabs a canteen and rolls the chair she's sitting on over to where he's propped up on the same table she had been. It had taken her a good hour to get his dead weight on that. 

“Are you awake?” Clarke asks him, gently tipping the canteen to his lips and holding his head. She watches him carefully. It wouldn't be the first time he's said her name, only for him to slip right back into sleep. 

Bellamy opens his eyes to squint at her, pulling away from the canteen after a sip. “It worked?” 

Clarke nods and smiles slightly. “It worked.” 

There's not much talking after that. Bellamy drinks more water and eventually takes the ration bar that she pushes into his hand, quietly eating it. She watches him without a word, and he stares at the stain of black blood on his shirt, no doubt realizing that it's his own. Just like her, he has nightblood now.

Clarke is mostly recovered from her bout of radiation poison and the extraction of her bone marrow, but Bellamy will probably need another week. Between them, they'll manage to scrape by with a week and half of rations, then they'll have no choice but to set off for the bunker. It's either that...or die. 

“How long?” Bellamy finally asks. 

“A day away from two weeks,” Clarke tells him. He frowns, and she sighs. “Your body didn't have as much time as mine did to adjust. Overall, though, you're cleared to walk around perfectly fine in another week.” 

“We can go now.” Bellamy shrugs. “I feel fine.” 

“We have a week and a half of rations,” Clarke continues, blatantly ignoring him. “It could take us a few days to make it to the bunker, depending on the terrain, so we'll be pretty hungry when we get there. Water should last us a little longer.” 

“We leave tomorrow,” Bellamy declares, pushing himself up and off the table with a grimace. 

Clarke glares at him. “No, we  _ don't  _ leave tomorrow. You need time to heal, Bellamy.” 

“O is down there, Clarke.” Bellamy shrugs, as if that tells her all she needs to know. “Now, I know what I can handle. We'll take it slow if we have to, but we get out of here tomorrow.” 

“Two days,” Clarke counters, raising her eyebrows. “You take it easy for two days while I gather supplies for us, then we leave as soon as we wake up on the third day. Better offer?” 

Bellamy shakes his head, lips curling up. “Ever the negotiator, Clarke. Fine. Two days.” 

“Stay here,” Clarke orders firmly, pointing at him. “I'm going to look for better clothes and anything else of use.” 

“Look for a map,” Bellamy calls after her as she walks away. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Already on it!”

* * *

The world looks like shit. 

As far as the eye can see, there's sand and dust. Ash rises in the sky, as if everything has just finished burning. There's nothing green in sight. It's like  _ Praimfaya _ eradicated everything in its path, and upon consideration, Clarke realizes that's exactly what it's done, leaving nothing but rumble and ruined remains in its wake. She tries to imagine her being grouped into that, or Bellamy, and the thought terrifies her. 

This doesn't look like the type of world that people can survive in. There's nothing to survive off  _ of.  _ It's just...empty. Empty and dead. 

“Sandy,” Bellamy comments dryly. 

Despite herself, Clarke’s lips twitch. “Yeah, that's a word for it. At least we don't have to swim to Polis. How far do we have to go?” 

“Over two hundred miles,” Bellamy tells her, looking down at the map in his hands. 

“We take it slow?” Clarke suggests.

Bellamy folds up the map and slips it into his pocket, nodding. “Slow and steady wins the race. Let's go.” 

Together, they step off the rubble over the lab they broke through to get to the surface, and they begin their trek. The world around them is eerily silent. It's so still and lifeless that it invokes a feeling of deep discomfort in Clarke’s chest. The world has never felt this vast and lonely in all the years she's known it, and the emptiness of it sinks its claws into her. 

She has to remind herself over and over that Bellamy is walking right beside her, keeping a steady—albeit calm—pace with her. She tells herself that it won't feel like this forever, that her mom and their people are in the bunker, waiting for them. 

It's like a cavern of nothingness, and Clarke has to focus on the task at hand to keep from voicing how much she would prefer a world on the brink of war right now. At least then there would be life. She used to wish that all the people in the world who would have her and her people dead would just go away, leave them in peace, but she realizes now that a world without others isn't necessarily a good thing. 

They don't talk for what feels like forever, even though there is plenty for them to talk about. Sure, they've had their apologies and reconciliation, but that doesn't make the memory of past actions just go away.  _ Praimfaya _ didn't destroy that; nothing can. 

The fact of the matter is, Clarke held a gun on Bellamy and intended to pull the trigger for the sake of her people, but she couldn't do it. There's something entirely different about sacrificing Bellamy long ago by shutting the doors to the dropship versus killing him now to save even more lives. She could have done it, could've shot him in the leg to bring him down from the hatch, but even that hadn't been an action she would be able to see the way through. 

Bellamy would have never forgiven her. Not only that, but she would have condemned Octavia, Kane, Raven, and so many others to death. The few for the many, a choice she's made many times over, and when it arguably mattered most, she hadn't been able to do it. All for the simple reason of Bellamy standing in her way, a physical and emotional obstacle to what needed to be done. She knew, even as she held the gun and tried to force herself to pull the trigger, that she wouldn't be able to do it. 

Clarke knows she would have never been able to forgive herself. A piece of her mother would never fully forgive her for Kane. Bellamy would resent her forever for Octavia. Without their voices of reason and their forgiveness, her decision would have destroyed her in the end. 

There's a lot of things that sit between them, things that Clarke doesn't know how to approach. In the midst of the end of the world, working on a plan to reach Space, those things had seemed so inconsequential. Now? She wonders if Bellamy can forgive her in the world they're faced with now.

Though, she doesn't know why she's worrying about it. She knows Bellamy better than anyone, and when he makes a decision, he's rarely swayed. His choice to forgive her isn't something he'll go back on, no matter what comes next, just like her choice to forgive him as many times as she has isn't something she'll ever regret. She knows—and he must, too—that every single thing they've done to each other and to those they care about were for good reasons at that time. Constantly worrying about it won't get her anywhere.

Clarke is pulled out of her musings by the sight of a hump of sand. She can see the slightest glint of metal, and for the first time in hours, her heart starts to race with excitement rather than fear. 

“Bellamy,” she says, “do you see that?” 

“See what?” Bellamy starts in surprise when she suddenly breaks off into a sprint. “Clarke! Dammit, what are you—” 

“Look at this,” Clarke tells him sharply, grabbing her shovel and grunting as she digs. “I think it's—oh god, Bellamy, it's the Rover.” 

He's suddenly right next to her, hissing in between his teeth as he pulls at mounds of sand to reveal the gun on the Rover. They pause, sharing a hopeful look, then immediately start digging faster. It's no easy task, but neither of them slow or stop, feeling hope for the first time in days. 

By the time they manage to get the mountain of packed sand off the Rover, the sun is starting to set. They know without even talking about it that they'll be taking the Rover the rest of the way, so they collectively slow down on getting the sand off. Clarke is sore and tired by now, which means that Bellamy must be dead on his feet. This takes a lot out of them, more than she anticipated. 

“Getting cold,” Bellamy comments gruffly, a furrow in his brow as he knocks the sand out of the grill of the Rover with his boot. It rains down in clumps of orange and murky yellow. “We'll be warmer inside, or we could make a fire.” 

Clarke glances around. “With what? I mean, we could try, but it'll take longer. Let's just sleep in the Rover. There should still be a blanket back there.” 

“Here, use this to get as much sand off the floor as you can,” Bellamy murmurs, passing over the map. 

Wordlessly, Clarke takes the map and heads to the back, feeling goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. The temperature is dropping fairly quickly, which isn't ideal. She read once on the Ark that deserts were sometimes the hottest places during the day and the coldest during the night. The entire world seems to be a desert now, so it's not looking great. 

With a sigh, she climbs up into the Rover, grainy sand crunching underfoot. She starts on the simple task of swiping out as much sand from the floor as she can, shaking out the folded up blanket draped over the seats. Outside, Bellamy finishes cleaning off the exterior as much as he can, and by the time he circles around the back, she's mostly done. 

“When we wake up, the sun should have it recharged, so we can drive,” Clarke murmurs, tapping her knuckles to the side of the Rover’s cool metal. “We'll cut our time in half, at least.” 

Bellamy nods, reaching out to grasp the door and swing himself into the back of the Rover, crouching down so he won't hit his head on the roof. “We'll be back with Octavia and Abby soon enough. I'm sure they'll be glad to see us.” 

“You know they will,” Clarke says, shoving her way out of her jacket to ball it up as a makeshift pillow. She lays back, pulling half of the cover over her and holding up the other side as Bellamy copies her by making his jacket into a pillow as well. “Octavia thinks you're in Space, so you'll be a good surprise for her. She'll be happy.” 

“I hope she's alright.” Bellamy looks worried, even as he shuffles over to slide into the open spot that Clarke offers him, letting the cover settle over him. 

Clarke glances over at him, scooting over into the warm line of his arm against hers. “Octavia is strong, Bellamy. If anyone can make it through all of this, it's her. I have never doubted that.” 

“She won the Conclave,” Bellamy whispers, staring up at the roof of the Rover blankly. “When we were kids, she used to like to come up from under the floor and play like we were Roman Gladiators. We'd fight to the death, and I made sure she always won.” His lips curl up slightly. “Of course, the only way  _ to  _ win was by hitting each other with a pillow, but still. She used to get this bright smile on her face, and she'd dance around the room, faking cheers from an audience that wasn't there, saying that the crowd was going wild. It was just a game.” The curl of his lips drop and tip down. “Until it wasn't.” 

“Like I said,” Clarke rasps, “she's strong.” 

“I wish she didn't have to be.” 

“We've all had to be, Bellamy. Trying to protect her from it was honorable, but you can't control everyone around her. You did all you could.” 

“Sometimes...it doesn't feel like enough,” Bellamy tells her, looking over at her with wide eyes. His throat bobs around an audibly dry swallow. It's growing darker outside now, and she can only really see the outline of his face. He looks guilty. “She never stood a chance, did she? None of us did.” 

Clarke reaches out with a fumbling hand under the cover until she can grasp his fingers tight. “Maybe we didn't, but we made it. We're still alive. After everything, we're still alive.” 

“There's that,” Bellamy mutters sardonically, but he squeezes her hand. “I guess I should feel grateful that she's alive, but this life…” He clenches her fingers harder. “Clarke, this life sometimes feels so  _ hateful.  _ It's like we were sent here to see if Earth was survivable, and it's just been trying to prove it isn't ever since we stepped foot on the ground.” 

“And if we stayed on the Ark?” Clarke argues lightly, her words lacking heat. “They would have sent someone else, and we would've come down anyway. That, or we would have died. At least, here, we still have a chance.” 

“Would you have stayed?” Bellamy nudges her elbow with his own, sounding curious. “On the Ark, I mean. Say you were given the choice…” 

“Back then?” Clarke huffs a short, bitter laugh. “You know, I probably would have gone wherever Wells wasn't. Or my mom, if I found out the truth.” 

“So angry,” Bellamy whispers. “Even back then. Mad at Wells, mad at your mom, then Finn. Murphy, the Grounders, Mount Weather, Finn again, Lexa,  _ me.  _ God, Clarke, have you ever been anything else besides angry at someone?” 

Clarke snorts. “You know, I think I've been perpetually angry since my father died, so no, probably not.” 

“You ever mad at yourself?” Bellamy asks. 

“All the time,” Clarke answers. 

Bellamy squeezes her hand again. “Yeah, me too.” 

There's a long silence, and Clarke stares listlessly at the omnipresent darkness above her. She turns over Bellamy’s words in her mind. He'd been teasing, she knows that, but she's also aware that he wasn't, in a way. He knows her as well as she knows him, and he sees what most don't—that she's just so  _ angry  _ all the time, usually at herself. She's not alone in that feeling; he deals with it, too. 

Clearing her throat, Clarke pulls her hand free from his and turns over, putting her back to him. “Get some sleep, Bellamy.” 

“Goodnight, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs, turning over in the opposite direction so that they're back-to-back, leaning on each other.

Clarke closes her eyes. 

* * *

Polis looks lost. 

It's in shambles, nothing but ruined structures and lifeless rumble. Everything is gray, or full of sand, and it's like  _ Praimfaya _ caused the city to collapse on itself. Clarke stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Bellamy and stares out at what was once a hub of activity but is now made up of nothing. If not for the simple fact of  _ knowing  _ that people are in an underground bunker, she'd think that all life here was wiped away. 

“Do you ever think we should have decided to live in the City of Light?” Clarke asks in a solemn tone, her voice giving away her horror. 

Bellamy glances at her briefly. “No, that was never an option, not really. Our choice would be stolen from us, and we wouldn't have even been  _ us.”  _

“It would have been better than this,” Clarke tells him, blinking slowly as they pick their way across the remains of Polis. She feels safe telling him this, sharing her doubts, because she knows he won't judge her. He'll even correct her. “Maybe Alie was right.” 

“If there's one thing I've learned from all this, it's that the easy option isn't always the right one.” Bellamy holds her gaze for a long moment. “The City of Light wasn't an alternative to survival, Clarke, it was ensuring we'd all die. You made the right call.” 

Clarke doesn't say anything else, just nods in thanks, averting her eyes. It's times like these that she finds herself thankful for him. It's been a long time since she ever looked back on where they started out, but she ponders it now as they move sporadically through the fallen city. The irony in the one boy she distrusted the most becoming the man she trusted with everything isn't lost on her, and in truth, it's almost funny to think about now. 

Her and Bellamy have come a long way. The head and the heart. They need each other, always have, even from that rocky start. 

When they get close enough to where the bunker is supposed to be, Clarke is only slightly disheartened to see the place covered in scrap and rubble. She'd been expecting that after seeing everything else, but she's sure that they'll be able to get to the door. Or, she's dead-set on it, at least. 

Together, her and Bellamy run forward to start shifting the bedrock out of the way, straining to make a path through. They grit their teeth, curse under their breath, push and pull. Eventually, they manage to open up a space they both can crawl through. 

“The hatch is down here,” Clarke tells Bellamy excitedly, rushing forward to fall to her knees. 

He helps her lift rocks out of the way, but it becomes apparent very quickly that the path forward isn't going to be easily moved. The environment around them is unstable, and every rock they shift out of the way only leads to more. 

Eventually, they start yelling. Clarke starts first, calling out for her mom, then for anyone. Bellamy joins her, bellowing between moving rubble, never looking up to meet her eyes. She realizes that the moment they lock eyes, they'll both acknowledge that they're never getting into that bunker. 

She doesn't look up for a long time. 

When she does, Bellamy has stopped shouting, just as she has, enveloping them in dense silence. She stares at him, at the sweat dripping down his nose to the dusty rubble he has his hands on, at the way his chest heaves with each breath. He has his eyes screwed shut, and his curls are soaked in sweat, sticking to his forehead. Her heart hurts for him, for herself, for the girl beneath the floor Bellamy can't save the second time, for the mother that will have to live on without her daughter. The only solace they have is that the people in the bunker think they're in Space and the hope that those in Space will one day come down to free the people she and Bellamy can't get to. 

They're alone. Truly and utterly alone. 

Bellamy looks up, finally admitting defeat, and unshed tears swim in his eyes. She wants to offer words of comfort, but there's nothing she can say that will bring either of them consolation. The words she can't give them clog her throat, and she blinks hard against the sting in her eyes, darting her gaze to the side with a twist in her chest. 

It's then that she sees it. For a brief moment, she doesn't even realize what she's looking at, but then her chest pinches even more. The Commander’s throne, one that Lexa sat in. The thick wood sticks out from the rubble, and Clarke can't resist reaching out to grab it, tugging it free. 

It's the last piece of Lexa she'll have besides her memories, and she knows it. Her fingers tighten around it, eyes sinking shut as grief overwhelms her yet again. She doubts she'll ever get over the pain of Lexa’s death, just like the reminder of Finn’s will always sting. She loved them, despite everything, despite the fact that she knows she wouldn't now, not as the person she is today. The memory of those lost loves go hand-in-hand with the memory of a softer, more innocent version of herself. She suspects she'll harden even more as time passes, and maybe even this moment right now will become a memory she looks back on for a piece of herself she may someday lose. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy says softly, shifting a piece of rubble out of the way. 

It's at that moment that she realizes there are tears streaming down her face. “I'm f—”

The rest of her words get lost as the cavern of ruins around them begin to shudder and shake. Her eyes go wide at the same time Bellamy’s do, and they both launch to their feet and make a break for the narrow opening behind them. As the foundation slides and crumbles, they toss themselves free from the oncoming wreckage, rolling over rubble and rock to land on the ground with gasps of pain. 

Bellamy chokes out one word as he stumbles to his feet.  _ “Octavia.” _

Clarke pushes herself up, coughing out the dirt that she got a mouthful of. As she brushes herself off, she stares miserably at the added obstacle that sits between them and their people. They could dig for years and they still wouldn't make it through. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says softly. 

“I'm not leaving her,” Bellamy states flatly, that familiar tension in his jaw that means he won't easily change his mind. “My sister is down there and—” 

“—and she's  _ fine,”  _ Clarke cuts him off, stepping forward to grab his hand, holding onto it tightly. “They have food, they have shelter, they have people to keep them alive. I don't want to leave any more than you do; my  _ mom  _ is down there. But if we stay, we die.” 

“Five years, Clarke,” Bellamy rasps, turning to look at her, his face twisting. 

Clarke nods and swallows. “I know. Trust me, I—I know. But we can't get to them, and staying here is an accident waiting to happen.” 

“It doesn't matter where we go.” Bellamy flings out his unoccupied hand. “Look around, Clarke. There's no way to survive out here. We'll die  _ anyway.”  _

“We have to at least try,” Clarke snaps. 

Bellamy laughs hollowly. “Where will we go?” 

“I don't know,” Clarke admits quietly, “but we have five years to figure it out. And maybe, just maybe, we'll find a way to get to that bunker in that time. Or, we'll see it happen when the others make it back from Space. Either way, we have to be alive for that.” 

“Fine,” Bellamy grits out, “then let's go survive in an unsurvivable world.” 

A smile flickers over Clarke’s face. “Wouldn't be the first time.” 

* * *

All they find at Arkadia is ghosts. Things that set Clarke’s heart ablaze and send her into long silences. She sits in the back of the Rover while Bellamy walks every inch of Arkadia in hope of finding anything else that may be of use. She should be out there with him, but instead, she turns Jasper’s—or Maya’s, really—music player over in her hand. 

Their rations are getting low. Too low, now. They've already ran out of water once, but it had rained for a brief time, so they were able to restock on water, at least. But they've run through most of that, too. In just a day's time, they'll both be out of water again, and they're on their last three ration bars. They've been making it work as best as they can, but Clarke’s hope seems to be flickering out. As much as she tries to think of ways to survive, her mind seems to slide right over the problem and latch onto a mere idea of what Jasper must have looked like before he died. 

Maybe he looked peaceful. Maybe, when people accept that death would be simpler, they are at peace. 

She wonders what that's like. Feeling at peace. 

“Clarke.” 

She shakes herself at the sound of Bellamy’s voice, that brief dark moment receding as his face comes into view. She offers him a tight smile as he climbs into the back of the Rover, and she holds up the music player as an explanation for her anguished silence. He glances at it and instantly gets it, needing no further elaboration. 

“Find anything?” she asks in a croak. 

Bellamy shakes his head. “Not much, just some more patches of fabric we can use. We need to stay covered in the heat. It helps.” 

“It hurts, actually,” Clarke mutters, wiping sweat off her forehead pointedly. “But yeah, I get your point.”

“So, I was thinking we keep driving,” Bellamy says with a deep inhale. He raises his eyebrows. “We may as well see if the terrain ever changes. We might come across other places that could have something of use.” 

“Sure,” Clarke agrees, too tired to argue—not that she even would. What else do they have to lose? “Not to call attention to our problem, but we have  _ maybe  _ five more days in us. If we don't get water by then, we'll die from dehydration.” 

Bellamy nods. “I know.” 

“That's it?” Clarke arches an eyebrow at him. “You know. That's all you got?” 

“Either we find more water, or it rains again.” Bellamy leans his head back against the wall of the Rover and heaves a sigh. “Or we die. Simple as that.” 

Clarke sighs. “Yeah. Simple.” 

“Together,” Bellamy mumbles, reaching out to grab her ankle and give it a light squeeze. 

“Together,” Clarke echoes, staring at Bellamy’s slack expression. He looks as exhausted as she feels. 

For a long moment, neither of them speak or move. Clarke watches Bellamy and feels his hand lightly curled around her ankle, a simple comfort that she leeches on desperately. In this moment, she wishes she could draw him at this angle, just like this. He's as much of a mess as she is, but her palms itch with the urge to capture him right now on paper. She feels like something about this moment should exist forever, not just in her memories. 

Then, without preamble, his eyes snap open and he meets her gaze head on. He stares at her for a beat, then looks at the music player in her hand. His lips curl up at the corners as his gaze runs over it, then the letter to Monty, then to Jasper's goggles. There's a fondness in his expression that hurts her heart as much as it warms it. 

“Maybe they met again,” Bellamy murmurs, nodding towards the label reading  _ Maya  _ on the music player. 

Clarke slowly puts it back in the box. “Maybe,” she whispers hoarsely. 

“We should go,” Bellamy says with a sigh, turning towards the door. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, words sticking in her throat when he turns to look at her. She forces herself to get them out, despite the bone-deep terror at the possible response. “How are we supposed to survive this?” 

Bellamy’s gaze flicks over her face, then he averts his eyes as he says, “Maybe we're not.” 

He opens the door and slides out, leaving her sitting there in utter silence. Moments later, the driver-side door wrenches open with its usual creak, and Clarke closes her eyes, trying to get herself together. It takes her a moment to push down the rush of emotion in her chest, but as always, she presses on. It's with one thought looping in her mind that she climbs out of the Rover and heads to the passenger side. 

_ Maybe we never were,  _ she thinks. 

The thought won't leave her head. 

* * *

A storm like they've never seen before hits them unexpectedly. They're not prepared for it, and it's too late to do much about it. They try to brave the whipping sand that cuts like glass to save the solar panels on the Rover, but it's no use. They don't have much of a choice but to climb inside and ride out the storm from the inside. 

Clarke blankly watches a cut on her arm bubble with blood, the teardrops of black sliding down slowly. The slice had come from a solar panel ripping off the Rover and clipping her on the arm as it was sucked into the unforgiving vortex of wind and sand and other debris. It doesn't really hurt, and she's not pressed to do much about it. 

Bellamy is, though. He reaches out with gentle hands and rips a piece of fabric off his outer shawl, using the cleanest side to wipe away the blood. He doesn't meet her gaze as he wraps the fabric around her arm and ties it off. After, they sit in silence. 

There's not a whole lot to talk about. The facts are, the Rover’s solar panels are probably trashed, meaning they'll have to travel to get more. With the way their water and ration supply is looking, they'll die before they even make it there. On foot, their chances for survival is cut in half, and they both know it. They just don't talk about it. 

Luck is all they can hope for now, and they've never had much of that before. Probably won't now. 

“I'm going to sleep,” Clarke declares loudly, speaking over the storm. 

Bellamy just nods.

* * *

Clarke had thought that  _ Praimfaya _ was an unforgiving mistress, but it pales in comparison to the sun. In retrospect, she thinks she might've preferred to die fast, rather than this slow torture. 

It's so  _ hot.  _

No, it's more than that. It's scorching. Every inch of her body burns, and the heat seeps all of the energy from her. She doesn't even know if she's sweating anymore because every part of her feels dry and cracked. Even breathing hurts, every inhale like swallowing fire, every exhale like glass shredding her lungs from the inside out. 

She licks her lips for a while, even though it hurts and burns, and then she stops when her mouth won't produce any more saliva. She's so thirsty that she'd drink her own tears if she had the retained water to cry, but even that is lost to her now. 

Just like Bellamy, she's bundled up as much as possible against the beaming sun. It's supposed to be helping, but she just feels like she's suffocating. 

The environment around them is just hot sand as far as the eye can see, and every step they take seems to be leading them nowhere. She's sure they've been walking for hours now, even days, but she hasn't had water in so long that she can't be sure. Her stomach is cramping from how long she's gone without food, and the lack of sustenance has taken its toll. In short, she's miserable and she's dying, slowly and painfully. 

Clarke aches for peace. Maybe Jasper had it right all along; maybe death is all the peace they'll ever get. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke croaks, slowing to a stop. His name cracks in her mouth, and she starts tugging on the shawl she has wrapped around her face. “Bellamy!” 

He's ahead of her, but not by much. It takes him a moment to turn, and she knows he's as exhausted as she is. He slowly approaches her, pulling down the cloth wrapped around his face. 

“Break?” Bellamy asks in a rasp. 

Clarke swallows, the sound horrifically dry. “Bellamy, I think… I think this is it.” 

“Giving up?” he asks. 

“Giving in,” she corrects. 

Bellamy looks away, squinting at the harsh sun. His gaze roams over their surroundings before landing on her again. He nods. “Okay.” 

“I don't want to die,” Clarke tells him, being open and honest because she's sure that she's going to. 

“I know,” Bellamy replies. “Neither do I.” 

Clarke reaches out a hand, holding it out in front of her. “Together?” 

“Together,” Bellamy confirms, reaching out to grasp her forearm, holding it tight. 

They hold that position for a moment, and Clarke knows she'll regret leaning forward to hug him in this heat, but she's also aware she'll regret it even more if she doesn't before they die. She steps forward and reaches out to toss her arms around his shoulders in a fierce hug, burying her hot face into his even hotter neck and squeezing her eyes shut. After a beat, his arms slide around her waist, and he returns the hold just as tightly. They stand like that, gripping each other too tight for too long, and they only break away when the discomfort of the heat forces them to. 

She almost doesn't, almost just decides to hold on and die wrapped up like that, but her need to be horizontal beats out in the end. With a small smile that makes her cracked lips sting, she backs away and begins tugging off the extra layers that don't matter anymore. Giving in is fairly easy. 

“Could be worse,” Clarke murmurs as she drops her pack and frees herself from the weight of extra cloth. 

Bellamy looks at her like she's already gone insane from the heat. “In what way?” 

Clarke grunts as she sits down in the hot sand, laying back and closing her eyes. Quietly, selfishly, she admits, “At least we won't die alone.” 

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees, flopping down next to her with a groan, “I guess if there ever was going to be a bright side to this, it would be that. I'm probably not the first person you would want to die beside, but it's better than nothing.” 

“I don't know,” Clarke muses, “you're pretty high up on my list, Bellamy Blake.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yeah, it is. It's a big thing with the Grounders, you know, to die an honorable death. I think you being here makes it honorable, somehow. We've fought for so long that—that our fight is over.” 

_ “Oso gonplei ste odon,”  _ Bellamy murmurs. 

Clarke closes her eyes. “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” She pauses, softens her voice, and Bellamy joins her in finishing it off. “May we meet again.”

Bellamy’s hand reaches across the sand between them, threading their fingers together, and Clarke smiles. 

* * *

Dying, as it turns out, isn't so simple. 

The human body is built for survival, and just because they have given up doesn't mean their bodies are on board with that. So, instead of them closing their eyes and simply passing away, they take a nap. 

A fucking  _ nap.  _

Clarke wakes up to a sharp nip to her wrist that hurts more than the heat does. Instinct takes over and she rips her hand from Bellamy’s, releasing a high-pitched squeal she'd be embarrassed about any other time. As it is, she doesn't have time to care about what sounds she's making; she's too focused on the sound of the bird’s wings flapping as it takes off to the sky. 

A bird.  _ Alive.  _ An alive bird!

“Bellamy!” Clarke hisses, reaching over to gracelessly slap him on his arm. 

Bellamy cracks open one eye. “Trying to die here, Clarke. Could use some silence for that.” 

“We're not dying, not yet,” Clarke snaps, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and tugging as she launches to her feet. “I saw a bird! And no, before you even say it, it wasn't a hallucination.” 

To prove her point, the bird squawks above them. 

“A bird,” Bellamy blurts out, finally getting with the program and surging forward. He scrambles to his feet, head snapping in the direction of the bird as it flies off, getting farther away. His nostrils flare. “It must be living somewhere.” 

“Hey!” Clarke calls out stupidly, a little delirious from the heat and overwhelming hope swelling in her. She takes off at a sprint, or as much as she can in the sand, and Bellamy is hot on her heels. “Hey, bird, take us to your home!” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy hisses,  _ “stop yelling at it.”  _

Wisely, she stops yelling at it. 

They follow the bird for a long time, even when it's just a speck in the distance. Clarke is beginning to think that it might be a joint-hallucination between them both, doubts creeping in as the adrenaline starts to wear off. She pushes forward anyway, needing something to fight for, needing any glimpse of hope the same way she needs water. 

When they reach a large mound of sand, they barely even hesitate before starting to climb. It crumbles beneath their feet, sending them careening right back down, but they just start all over again. Covered in split blisters and grainy sand, they eventually reach the top, pushing to their feet to look. 

All that hope that Clarke had felt comes crashing right back down. It shatters within her, slicing her up. She releases a gutted sound, staring out at the empty world laid out before her, listening to Bellamy panting from the exertion of climbing this mountain only to find more of nothing. This is all there is, and apparently a bird has more luck than they ever have. It'll survive, she knows it will, but they won't. 

Clarke turns to look at Bellamy, unsure what to say, but she barely takes a step before the ground beneath them crumbles in on itself. Their foundation slides away, sending them ass-over-head as the tumble right back down the mountain of sand they just climbed. It's like being spit on after being beaten down. 

It makes her so, so  _ angry.  _ Rage burns through her hotter than the searing sun, and she rolls over to her knees the moment she goes still. Slamming her hands down on the sand beneath her, she releases a guttural scream that rips from her unprompted. She's so frustrated, and hurt, and  _ done.  _

“I'm done!” Clarke shouts, staring up at the empty sky, her chest heaving. “You hear me?! I am  _ done!”  _

She wishes that bird never woke her up, wishes that she'd just be dead already, wishes that it was over. Everything is pointless now. She's done all she can for her people, and she has nothing left to give. All she has is Bellamy, but even that can't bring relief when he's going to die right beside her because she couldn't convince him to leave and save himself. That's on her, and it's with a sick sense of horror that she thinks she may have held back on trying to get him to leave because she's so damn selfish that she didn't want to be alone, even if it condemned him to death. 

Clarke is seconds away from listing off all the reasons that she's done to whatever force hates her so much. It has to hate her to give her this life, and she's ready to tell it why it's pushed her to wish for death when nothing else she's been through has. 

She never gets the chance because arms suddenly circle around her, heated skin pressing into hers, large hands cupping the back of her head and pushing her face into a firm chest. Right there, sagging against Bellamy, she breaks. She can't produce tears, but her body jerks without soundless sobs, and Bellamy simply holds her through it, swaying them slightly. 

Before she's even tried to gather herself, Bellamy pulls away slightly, hands sliding around to cup her face, forcing her to look at him. “You're not done, Clarke. You don't get to be done until I am. I said it once and I'll say it again. Either we both make it, or neither of us do.  _ Together.  _ Remember?” 

“Bellamy,” Clarke chokes out, “I'm so  _ tired.”  _

“So am I, but this isn't over,” Bellamy says forcefully, gripping her face tighter when she tries to turn her head away. He holds her gaze, completely serious, his jaw set in that stubborn line of his. “Your head is telling you that you can't fight anymore, but  _ I'm  _ telling you that you can. We fight, Clarke, that is  _ what  _ we do. We keep going until we can't, then we go further, you hear me?” He flicks his gaze over her face, waiting, and when she nods, he brushes his thumbs over her cheeks and drops his hands. “Now, there's a bird we have to find, or die trying. So, get up.” 

Feeling scolded and more than a little mortified, she clears her throat and shakily pushes to her feet. It's in the midst of doing so that they both hear the squawk of the bird above them. Her head snaps up just as his does, and just like that, hope burns anew. 

This time, they run even faster. The bird leads them away from this mountain and further to the left. They end up right in front of another hill of sand, and they approach this one the same as the last. Together, they climb. And this time, when they reach the top, they find their first bout of luck in years. 

The first thing Clarke registers is all the  _ green.  _ It looks alive, looks like survival, and all the breath in her lungs escape her at once. Relief slams into her so hard that she closes her eyes briefly, simply basking in the feeling. She hasn't felt it in a long,  _ long  _ time. Long before the end of the world. It makes her feel lighter for a moment, and she can't help but look over to Bellamy to catch his reaction. 

He's already looking at her with a smile. 

The bird trills from a branch atop the hill, tucking its head into its wing, and Clarke feels thankful as she stares at it. She's grateful, even as she takes her gun out, lines up the shot, and pulls the trigger. 

“Are you still done?” Bellamy asks her, raising his eyebrows at her pointedly. 

Clarke lets out a short, nearly giddy laugh and beams at him as brightly as the sun, shaking her head. “No, I think… I think I'm just getting started.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long intro at the top, but this is my first fic for this show and pairing, so I'm a little chatty. I just want to talk about so much lol. I have a sideblog for The 100 on Tumblr: have-we-learned-nothing (because yes, I loved that little Murphy quote and scene). I'm thinking of making it an actual blog instead, but we will see. 
> 
> As for this fic, I'll be posting a chapter every Friday! So, I'll see you for the next. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I really cherish every single one! 
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


	2. Year One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeeee, it's Friday again! So glad to be able to post this new chapter, and I hope you all enjoy it! Couple of Tread-Lightly's: it gets heavy in a few moments, just like in canon. Nothing you haven't seen in the show, though, and truly not as bad, really. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone for being so kind!

The Valley is eerily quiet, but more importantly, it's plentiful.

Bellamy nearly passes out in relief when they come up on a small lake fairly quickly. He's so thirsty and so burnt that he doesn't even have the decency to check that Clarke sees it, too. He just heads right over in a rush, and it's not until he's cupping his hands under the water and drinking from his palms that he thinks to make sure she's beside him.

She is.

He goes back to drinking, eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of water over his tongue, washing through him. It's even slightly cool, and it tastes fresh. He can't stop himself from splashing some on his face, grimacing at the simultaneous sting and soothing sensation of the water over his blisters. Under the cover of the trees, the sun isn't as punishing, but he knows it will take a few days to fully heal.

Even still, his dry skin appreciates the water after the initial pain, and he wants to dunk his entire body in it. So, that's precisely what he does.

Maybe it's stupid, maybe it's reckless, maybe there are man-eating creatures in it. He doesn't care. Without preamble, he reaches down to snatch his shirt over his head, shoves his way out of his pants, and then just sags over the side of the shallow embankment, dropping into the lake with a splash. His skin is tight and hot, so the water hurts at first, but it eventually feels so good that he could cry.

He doesn't cry when he comes up for air, shaking his hair out of his eyes. His heart pangs with the thought of his little sister. He's heard the story many times of how, upon arriving at the ground, Octavia bravely jumped into a lake not unlike this one. She'd nearly died, which still gives him phantom feelings of panic, but it pleases him now to think that he knows exactly how she felt when she first dived in.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says sharply.

He blinks water out of his eyes and looks at her, at the disapproving furrow in her brow. The world is empty and she still finds ways to worry. In a way, that's a relief. She still cares, she wants to survive again. That moment when she'd seemed to have fully given up had scared him more than he cares to admit.

“It feels good,” Bellamy tells her. He swims a little closer to her, flicking his fingers to send droplets of water over her face. At first, she winces, but just like him, she sighs at the relief that follows. “See? Come on, just dip in for a bit. We won't swim far, I swear.”

After a moment of hesitation, he watches with a victorious grin as she blows out a deep breath and reaches for the hem of her shirt. She strips down to her makeshift bra and underwear that truly has seen better days, and he casually watches her, taking in her blistered skin. They both must look terrible right now, but hey, at least they're alive.

Clarke doesn't just dive in like he did. Instead, she eases her body in slowly, hissing through her teeth as she drags out the sting of it for literally no reason. If she just jumped in all at once, it would stop hurting quicker, but Clarke has always been like that. She punishes herself past the point of necessity, almost to dramatic lengths, he'd say.

Once the water laps at her collarbones, he watches her suck in a deep breath and dunk herself under the water. Moments later, when she comes back up, she's wearing an unconscious smile.

“Oh god, my _hair,”_ Clarke whimpers, closing her eyes as she scratches at her scalp. Clumps of dirt and blood seeps into the water, drifting with the ripples.

Admittedly, Bellamy is a little surprised by Clarke caring about her hair. It's stupid, but he's never thought of her in terms of anything necessarily _girly,_ so to speak. Octavia, for example. Even when she was aligning herself with Grounders, she took care of her hair as much as possible—washing it, untangling it, braiding it, _something._ Hell, even Raven kept up with hers through the years.

Clarke? Less so. Personally, he doesn't care about things like that, not when the world is the way it is—the way it _was,_ he corrects internally—but he'd always just assumed that Clarke never cared either. He hasn't ever really seen her hair cared for on the regular, and more often than not, it seemed like an afterthought to her. Which is fair, all things considered.

But now, he watches the way her eyes flutter shut as she washes away the dirt and grime, the way her lips curl up as she tries to loosen the knots. This is when Bellamy realizes that Clarke never had the luxury of finding time to care for her hair, always too busy leading, or dealing with the decisions she made as a leader. Just like him, she couldn't afford to care, not when she was trying to keep everyone alive.

“Here,” Bellamy says quietly, wading over to her and gesturing to her hair. “Let me.”

Clarke frowns at him, but she does slowly turn around and give him full access to her unruly hair. “Know what you're doing?” she asks.

Bellamy snorts. “Are you kidding? I used to do O’s hair all the time. She wanted to look pretty, even if no one would see her.” He smiles slightly, the prick of nostalgia softened by the memory of a younger, safer Octavia. He used to think those times were hard, but he realizes now how simple they were. “This would work better if I had a brush, but as nice as this place is, I don't think one will fall from the trees. So, my fingers will have to work for now.”

“It's hard to manage,” Clarke admits sheepishly. She half-turns her head to smile at him in chagrin, as if she's embarrassed. “I might cut it one day. Planned to because it'd be easier to manage, but I…”

“Let me guess, you never had the time,” Bellamy says, picking up where she leaves off. When she mutely nods, he sighs and reaches out to start doing his best to untangle her hair. It's very matted. “Well, unfortunately, you're probably going to have to. Some of these tangles just aren't going to come out.”

Clarke lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I'll do it later. For now, I just want it to be _clean._ I took a shower and got it all brushed on the Island in Becca’s house, but not maintaining it has made it worse. Plus all the walking in the desert. Right now, clean is all I want.”

“I can do clean.” Bellamy pauses and narrows his eyes at the sand in the matted parts. “Well, moderately clean, at least.”

“Thank you,” Clarke murmurs, and the way she says it sounds like she's thanking him for more than just helping with her hair.

Bellamy feels his lips curl up. “Whatever you need, Princess.”

* * *

They stay at that lake long enough for them to scrub away as much of the stains on their clothes as they can, then let them dry in a patch of sun. They sit side-by-side in the grass, dressed in nothing but their underclothes, and they bask in the simplicity of this place. They never speak, just stare out at the water in comfortable silence, both openly pleased.

When their clothes are as dry and clean as they're going to get, they get up and get moving.

Bellamy feels better than he has in days. He's not hot, he's not thirsty, and he's pretty sure he's not going to die for the foreseeable future. It's a good day.

He's still very hungry, however, and he nearly vibrates out of his skin with excitement when they find a basket of fruit on the ground. It's not until they've eaten their way through all the fruit that Bellamy stops to think about why there would be a basket of abandoned fruit at all. The silence around them suddenly seems less inviting.

The thing is, Bellamy isn't the biggest fan of Grounders as a whole. He recognizes that there are many of them that aren't the horrible savages he first thought them to be, and he knows with everything in him that the Grounders he helped Pike massacre is one of his biggest, unforgivable sins. Even still, Grounders have always elicited wariness from him, simply because he can't pretend that they're not fully capable of killing, just as he is. At the very least, they're to be met with caution, regardless of what Octavia—and even Clarke, sometimes—would say.

Yet, when they come across the Village, Bellamy finds himself mourning for people he wouldn't consider his own, for people he didn't even know. Grounders, no doubt, but human beings all the same.

It's like everyone just stopped what they were doing all at once. He _knows_ that's not the case, knows what really happened. _Praimfaya_ may have jumped over this Valley, but the radiation poisoning didn't bypass the people. The vibrancy of life here is just an afterimage, a facade. The people are dead.

The body of the little boy is what gets him.

“Clarke,” he manages to croak out, nodding to the corpse of a child.

Sometimes, Bellamy wonders who's the stronger one out of him and Clarke. It makes him think about what the measurement for strength even is, makes him question if what they consider strong is what someone else would consider horrifying or cruel. Usually, he finds himself coming to the same conclusion, that they're both strong in their own ways, but much stronger together—weaker, too. In truth, they probably share strength when they're together, stepping up when the other can't, sharing the strain to get through whatever it is they're dealing with at that time.

Right now, he folds under the strain of staring at what the world has left behind. Looking at a child who never got to live is like seeing the life drain away. It's worse than the empty wasteland _Praimfaya_ left in its wake, worse than the destruction of Polis, worse than dried up seas and endless stretches of sand.

It's the reminder that they're all that's left, the others locked underground or floating in Space. All the ground has is him and Clarke now, and it feels _wrong._

He can't face it.

She can.

“We burn them,” Clarke says softly, walking over to put her hand on his arm and squeeze. Her throat bobs as she swallows, her smile tight as she blinks the tears out of her eyes. “They would have wanted to be burned together, so we burn them.”

Bellamy slowly nods. “Okay. We burn them.”

So, that's what they do.

Before they explore the rest of the Village, before they take a moment to rest, before anything else...they work together to give this one last tribute that they can. And that...that feels right.

It's a long process. They work together to gather up all the bodies around the Village, and then they spend hours building a pire. It has to be in the right spot to burn that won't let the fire spread, and it has to be stable enough to hold the dead weight. After, he and Clarke silently wrap the bodies in whatever sheets and fabric they can gather. He feels guilty for being unable to wrap the children, but Clarke doesn't so much as bat an eye at his blatant avoidance. She handles it because she always handles it.

They put as many bodies as they can on at once, but there's too many to do them all in one fell swoop. Bellamy feels a little sick every time they wait for the fire to die down so they'll have more room to put more bodies on it. The burning goes on well into the night, the flames flickering in the dark.

For every single body, they softly murmur, _“Yu gonplei ste odon.”_

As the last body burns, Clarke silently moves over to stand beside him, leaning into his side. He wraps his arm around her, she wraps her arm around him, and they watch the flame go out for the last time. _Your fight is over,_ they murmur in a language that isn't theirs that they speak, in a saying that doesn't belong to them that they use, simply doing what needs to be done for those that ended when the world did.

And, just like that, they're truly alone.

* * *

It doesn't really settle in until days later. Until they're both healed from their long journey here. Until they have food, and water, and shelter. Until they've gotten more sleep than they have in years, their bodies finally crashing the moment it feels safe enough to do so. Until then, it doesn't really register.

The realization strikes about midday while Clarke is fiddling with the radio, calling out to Raven like she does every now and again, just to check in and see if there's ever a signal. There never is, and Clarke doesn't check frequently, but they both still hold out hope that they'll get a reply someday.

He's half-listening to her when the thought crosses his mind, and he has to sit down the refined charcoal he's been using to write with to process it.

“Clarke,” he says.

“Hmm?” She looks over at him with raised eyebrows, sitting on a wooden outside table across the narrow path from the one he sits at. When she sees his face, she puts down the radio and moves over to sit at his table, frowning. “What's wrong?”

Bellamy stares at her. “Clarke, it's just us. Just me and you. For _five_ years.”

“Yes,” Clarke says dutifully.

“We're not in danger,” Bellamy tells her. He leans forward and braces his arms on the table. “No one is trying to kill us. We don't have anyone but ourselves to keep alive. It's _just_ us.”

Clarke nods carefully. “Okay, what's your point?”

“We're going to lose our minds,” Bellamy declares decisively. When Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes, he leans forward. “No, I'm serious, Clarke. Think about it, _really_ think about it. As nice as this is—doing nothing, having no purpose, no responsibility—can you imagine doing it for years? Hell, for _months?”_

“I…” Clarke trails off, blinking. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“We're going to go insane, aren't we?”

Bellamy chuckles. “Probably. Actually, I think we already are, at least a little. But it's manageable. It _won't_ be if we don't have a goal.”

“Right,” Clarke murmurs, looking around with a small frown. He can practically see the cogs in her brain turning. “Something to do, to work towards. Last two people on earth, and our boredom will be what does us in. Great.”

“We can start with the Rover,” Bellamy suggests, pursing his lips. “We have the resources to make that trip now and survive it.”

Clarke nods. “That will keep us busy for a few days. Maybe more if we don't rush.”

“No need to rush. We have plenty of time.”

“After that, we could map out the entire Valley. Explore it, learn it, all of that. It's pretty big, could take a year, at most. Going slow, of course.”

Bellamy slaps a hand to the table, pushing himself to his feet. “That's a start. We can figure out the rest later, but I say we go handle the Rover now.”

“Sure. I'll get us stocked up.” Clarke gives him a nod, that familiar glint of purpose in her eyes, something for her to focus on to keep her going.

He doesn't realize how much they need that until he's moving through the Village to find the map and peer at it. There's that feeling of having something to do, that feeling of needing to get something done. He's been without it for days, and while it's nice, it makes him restless. Just like Clarke, he needs something to focus on, something to push himself towards.

A distraction.

This is not necessarily a new development for him, he knows that, but it hits him then that it's the worst it has ever been. Even on the Ark, he felt the need to have things to work towards to distract him from the constant worry that Octavia would be found. That's why he worked so hard to become a Guard; that, and he knew it would help in the long run.

It's worse on the ground. From the moment he's stepped off that dropship, he's always had a goal to work towards. First, to keep the others on the Ark from coming down and stopping him from protecting his sister. Then the war with the Grounders. Then Mount Weather. So on, and so on, and the only time he _didn't_ throw his entire being behind a goal ended up with him following Pike, searching out that feeling yet again. If he's learned anything from that mistake, it's that he can't stay still for too long. Left to his own devices...well, anything could happen, he's learned.

There's also the sad fact that he's not exactly looking forward to dealing with the trauma of the last few years. While in motion, properly distracted, he can push it away and focus on something else, not feeling the full brunt of it all the time. But here? He can feel everything looming over him, waiting to bury him beneath it, pin him down and drown him in it.

If he's dealing with that, so is Clarke.

“Ready?” Bellamy asks when Clarke ducks into the little village house they've been sharing.

Clarke moves over to sit down on their bed, lacing up her boots tighter. “We'll have more than enough food and water, plus I left some better coats hanging by the door outside—better coverage from the sun. So, yeah, ready as I'm ever going to be.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “Know what direction we're heading in?”

“That way.” Bellamy points behind him with a snort, rolling his eyes. “Don't worry, I'll get us there. My sense of direction far outweighs yours.”

“It's adorable that you believe that,” Clarke teases, slapping her thighs as her boots clomp on the floor with a dull thump. “If we get lost, you're to blame.”

“We won't get lost,” Bellamy mutters, folding up the map and taking a deep breath. “Time to go. We're burning daylight.”

Clarke nods and pushes to her feet, but she pauses and looks around the village home that they claimed. Bellamy can't help but glance around, too.

After burning the dead, he and Clarke picked one of the small homes that had no bodies in it, instinctively drawn to a place not already marked with death. They hadn't even talked about staying in the same place, or even sleeping in the same bed. They just picked one, started cleaning it up, and went about gingerly packing up the previous owner’s things.

The place has nice accommodations for the most part. A large bed with thick furs to sleep under that they share, an even smaller bed—most likely for a child, which they don't acknowledge—that neither of them can even fit in. It's all open space, so past the beds is the kitchen area—wooden cabinets and a rickety table, plus an oven they've never encountered, one that they have to stock with wood and burn underneath, nothing like the ovens on the Ark or the open fire they grew used to on the ground. Outside of that, they'd taken what clothes they could fit in, the colorful threads surprising them, and they moved all the other personal items belonging to whoever owned this place somewhere else.

It doesn't feel like home, not yet, but Bellamy does think of it as safe shelter. He's slept here. Not on the ground, not on high-alert for danger, not being woken by someone dropping the next problem into his lap. He's slept next to Clarke, their arms pressed together, or their backs turned to each other, agreeing without words to stick close together. It's safe, warm, and comfortable.

He's walked every inch of this Village, tidying up the large building where candles have long since gone out. He's stared at the bright ornaments up in the trees, almost artistic and hopeful in their beauty, no doubt made by the people who died here. He's picked over every home and touched every possession, and it feels like this place has a life of it's own. A vibrant pulse of security, a chance at safety, a new life.

Maybe they're already insane for willingly leaving this place to brave the same conditions that nearly killed them last time. Maybe this is who they are now, needing action and something to strive towards. Maybe they're stuck in this mode that pushes them to feel on edge, working on the highest setting to survive, even when they're not at risk anymore. For all that they've learned to adapt, Bellamy thinks it may even be harder to adapt in reverse—learn to relax and settle again, adjust to living in ease.

Maybe he shouldn't be jumping at the chance to push himself hard again, and yet, when Clarke looks at him and says, “Let's go,” he follows instantly.

He doesn't even look back.

* * *

They take it slow. During the day, they don't talk, just pushing through the rough terrain and blazing sun. At night, they do talk, but not about anything too serious—just how hot it is during the day and then how cold it is at night, what the others might be doing, whether _Praimfaya_ destroyed all the other solar panels, and if this trip is all for nothing.

They're not hungry or thirsty this time, so they're in better spirits, even if the heat burns them all over again. Clarke even lugs the radio around with her, reaching out to Raven every now and again when the thought strikes her. They avoid storms and find the best positions to sleep in that will keep them warm and unburdened with sand the next morning. Overall, this trip through the desert is moderately better than the last, a thing that Bellamy is thankful for.

When they reach the solar panels to find that this trip was, in fact, a good idea, they share bright smiles and get to work. Hauling the necessary panels won't be a lot of fun, but they use vines and string from the village to tie them together and carry them. Bellamy will have bruises on his back for days from them bumping over his shoulder relentlessly, but he doesn't really care. At least they'll have the Rover.

Getting back to where they left the Rover behind is an even longer trip, and it wears them thin. It's grueling, but Bellamy expects it to be, so he's not taken by surprise. He's just tired, but the good kind of ache from _doing something_ that he realizes he's been missing while at the Valley. Clarke is clearly exhausted as well, but she also seems quietly pleased to have a task to work towards.

“Do you ever wonder what we would have been like if we existed before the end of the world?” Bellamy asks her one night, staring up at the stars, feeling the warm line of Clarke’s body pressed along his. “Well, before the first one, I mean.”

Clarke hums. “I used to, especially when we first got to the ground. I remember learning about College in class on the Ark, and I think I would have been a student. If not for medicine, then maybe my art.”

“I could see that for you,” Bellamy admits. “Octavia would have probably… Well, I don't know. She wouldn't have to hide in that world, so she'd be entirely different, I guess. But she'd be happy. She'd have plenty of friends and maybe a fast car that she'd drive for miles, going wherever she wanted.”

“Who would you be if you weren't always trying to keep her safe?” Clarke asks him softly. “If there was a world that she was already safe in, where would that leave you?”

Bellamy stares up at the twinkling stars, a lump forming in his throat. “I don't know, Clarke,” he murmurs with bare honesty. “I don't know who that person is, or what they would want.”

“Well,” Clarke says, “I think you would have been a student, too. Maybe for History. You like History.”

“I do,” Bellamy agrees in faint amusement, that lingering twinge of sadness making his smile small.

“Your mom would be alive. Lincoln would ask for your permission to marry Octavia. You'd walk her down the aisle. You'd _cry._ Everyone would be happy.”

“Same for you, I think. Your mom and dad would be so proud of you, just like now. Wells would hang around you all the time, you'd get married someday, and he'd be your best man.”

Clarke releases a soft laugh. “Me? _Married?_ Trying to imagine a world safe enough for me to get married seems impossible. Who would I even…” She trails off and her laughter gets caught in her throat. After a beat, she quietly says, “Doesn't matter. Not here.”

Bellamy likes this fantasy world, though. He doesn't want it to flicker out just yet. “Lexa, maybe?” he prompts cautiously. “I know you loved her.”

“I did,” Clarke agrees somberly. “But I loved her in this world, in _this_ life. We fell in love _because_ of what we were going through together, not in spite of it. That doesn't make it any less real or take away from how meaningful it was, it just means that it wouldn't be the same. What we had...it was special here, powerful, and it's one of the reasons I don't regret all the things that led up to that.”

“She means a lot to you,” Bellamy says softly, his heart twisting in his chest. “I won't lie and say I cared about her because I didn't, but for the pain it caused you, I'm sorry she died. I really am.”

“Me too.” Clarke sighs and scoots a little closer to him, shrugging against him. “But it happened, and I've had to move on. I miss her, though. You would have liked her if you really got to know her. She was beautiful, and she cared, and we just… It was nice.”

Bellamy feels his lips curl up. “Maybe I would have. Who knows? I'm glad you got to have that with her, though. We all deserve to feel like that.”

“You had Gina for a while,” Clarke comments carefully, testing the waters no doubt. “Just—I mean, Raven told me some things about her and you. She said that you two were happy.”

“We were.” Bellamy pauses, then grimaces. “Well, we were as happy as you can be on the ground. She was a hell of a girl. She listened to me talk, and she told me about her family, and things weren't so bad when we were together. It was easier having someone.”

Clarke nods against his shoulder. “Yeah, I get that. So what about her? Would you marry her in this world without problems?”

“No,” Bellamy says honestly, only feeling slightly guilty for it. “Not that she wasn't amazing, but our relationship was like yours and Lexa’s, to a lesser degree. Not as intense, I'm thinking. But it was a lot of _because of,_ and not _in spite of,_ too.”

“Well, maybe there would be someone else.”

“Maybe. But you… What about Finn?”

Clarke tilts her head back to peer at him through the darkness, blinking. “Finn?”

“You know, to marry,” Bellamy prompts, feeling slightly awkward when faced with the disbelief on her face. “I just mean that you two had, you know, a thing. You loved him, I know you did.”

“I didn't love him like Raven loved him, like he loved me, and I was never going to, even before he went on a killing streak,” Clarke tells him bluntly. “He broke my heart, not because we weren't together, but because he was just another thing I lost. Back then, that feeling was still so new and hurt a lot more.”

“So you wouldn't marry him?”

“Not even if he was alive today in this world. I will always care about him, but the girl who loved him like that has been gone a long time.”

Bellamy blinks. “Huh. But if Lexa was alive…”

“That's a little different,” Clarke murmurs, turning her head, though he catches her fond smile. “Maybe, if the world was different. Guess we'll never know.”

“I thought you moved on.”

“If she was alive, I never would have had to.”

“Fair enough,” Bellamy says with a snort. He blows out a deep breath and shakes his head. “Well, that's depressing. Even in a world without problems, we don't end up with the people we've lost. The irony.”

“Well, no matter who we'd end up with in all those worlds, I'd still be there at your wedding,” Clarke decides, reaching a hand over to pinch his arm, a playful gesture. “Maybe I'd even wear a dress.”

Bellamy pinches her back, chuckling. “You, in a dress? We'd all faint.” She gently bats his hand away from his arm and snorts, and he grins. “So, what, you think we'd be close in this other world, Princess?”

“Crazy as it sounds,” Clarke says dryly, “I don't think there's a world where we're not.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Bellamy murmurs.

Clarke reaches out and pinches him again _hard,_ releasing a peal of laughter when he immediately tries to retaliate. There's an awkward shuffle as they squirm away from each other's hands, laughing loudly in the night, and Bellamy lets that other world flicker out with no hesitation.

This one isn't so bad.

* * *

Driving the Rover is always relaxing. There's a feeling that comes with it, the windows rolled down, Jasper's music player belting out songs he now knows all the words to, racing along the empty wasteland at top speed simply because he can. It's liberating.

Clarke has decided to take a nap.

It's kind of amusing, actually. She had slipped out of her jacket, balled it up against the seat, then promptly went to sleep. When he regularly steals glances, her mouth is slack and her cheek is smushed up. The sight brings a grin to his face every time.

He contemplates using one of the strings hanging off the seat to drag over her face, just to see her react. It's stupid, a little devious, but the idea warms him to his core. He can already imagine the furrow in her brow, how her nose will wrinkle, how she'll halfheartedly rub her face until she wakes up and realizes what he's doing. She'll smack her teeth, maybe lightly smack him on the arm, but he knows she'll smile, too.

In the end, he decides against it. He's content just to watch her sleep in between watching the road, and anyway, she should get her rest.

Instead, he thinks about what the world will be like now. With his people locked away from him as far as they can get, under tons of rubble in an underground bunker and launched out into orbit back on the Ark, he really has no one else to take care of besides Clarke. It's a strange feeling, but not something he doubts that he'll be able to do. He's done it for years.

Admittedly, Clarke isn't the easiest person to take care of. She prefers to take care of herself, or pretend like she is, anyway. Still, in certain moments, he's stepped up to make sure she was okay, to make sure she was doing what was best for not only their people but herself. He knows how she works, how to approach her in terms of caring for her, and he suspects he'll be doing it for the next five years, just as he knows she'll be doing the same for him.

The two people in the world who always took care of everyone else focusing the full brunt of that on each other. It can get messy. In fact, he's pretty sure it will.

Clarke isn't Octavia, but that doesn't mean he's not going to worry about her just as much. It's something deep ingrained in him to worry, to throw his everything into making sure those around him are as okay as they can be. As of right now, Clarke is the only person around him, so she's going to have to deal with literally all of that.

Thing about that is, Clarke’s not exactly the poster child for letting people express their care and try to help her. She'd just pull away and find something else to focus on, brushing it off, or straight up avoiding it at all costs. Sure, she allows it in brief moments, especially when things are extremely tough, but those moments have expiration dates and don't last long. For five years? Consistently? Yeah, no.

And, what's worse, Bellamy has the same exact problems, and Clarke is the type to focus every cell in her body on other people's survival and well-being. Seeing as there are no other people, he's all she can focus on, which he will take with the same amount of acceptance as she'll take his care—meaning, neither of them will take it sitting down.

Yeah, it's going to get messy at some point.

Though, overall, they're level-headed enough not to let it come between them. They'll probably bicker, most likely take walks to get away from each other for a while, but at the end of the day, he knows they'll apologize, probably hug it out, then move on. In a really weird way, he's actually looking forward to it, just a bit. They always have heart-to-hearts after arguments, and he likes how those make him feel.

Having something to do will help. They coexist just fine, and having each other's presence keeps them from feeling lonely. With tasks to focus on, they might just get through these very long five years without an explosive argument. Maybe.

“I can _feel_ you thinking,” Clarke rasps, making his head snap over to her. She's sitting up, rolling kinks out of her neck as she stretches as much at the Rover will allow. After a yawn, she looks at him with her eyebrows raised. “What's on your mind, Bellamy?”

Bellamy smiles at her sheepishly. “Just wondering how we'll get through the next five years without killing each other.”

“Oh, that definitely won't happen,” Clarke says lightly, slipping back into her coat. “But hey, when you're gone, at least you'll stop eating my favorite berries. A good trade-off in my book.”

“Sharing is caring.” Bellamy snorts and shakes his head. “You'd have to catch me to kill me. I'm faster than you. Your short legs can't keep up with me.”

Clarke hums, settling back in the seat and smiling out the window. “We'll see.”

“How would you do it?” Bellamy asks, arching an eyebrow at her. “If you could kill me, how?”

“I can't.” Clarke looks over at him with a serious stare, then averts her eyes as she clears her throat. “I've already proven that I can't.”

Bellamy snaps his mouth shut, mentally slapping himself. He thinks about that moment, standing at the hatch on the bunker, Clarke's hand shaking around a gun he instinctively knew she wouldn't use. It hadn't even been a doubt in his mind. It was the first time a gun was trained on him that he didn't have a fleeting second of fear for his life.

He understands why she did what she did. As fucked up as it is, if Octavia hadn't been on the other side of that hatch, he might've agreed with her, even if he knows it was wrong. It's hard not to want your people to survive, as many of them that can. He gets it, which is why it was easy to forgive her.

Well, that, and he always forgives her, just like she always forgives him. When forgiveness is what they need, they offer it because they always give each other what they need—that's how it's always been. Need, and forgiveness, and always; that's the staple to their bond, one that won't break.

“I'm glad you can't,” Bellamy tells her quietly, staring out the windshield. He can feel her looking at him. “I mean, _obviously_ I'm glad, but it's more than that. It's nice to know that you killing me is as impossible as me killing you. So, it looks like we'll just have to survive the next five years together regardless.”

Clarke releases a soft laugh, looking away just as Bellamy steals a glance at her. “Looks like.”

“We'll be fine.”

“I know.”

Bellamy glances back to the road that's not a road, and he doesn't notice Clarke's gaze for a long time. When he does, he looks over to find her leaning her head back against the seat, her face softened into a fond smile. He echoes her expression, lips curling up, and he thinks his concerns were pointless.

* * *

“Hey, Raven, it's been a little while since I checked in. We got the Rover back up and running a few days ago, so it's back at the Valley with us. We started mapping out the area today, mostly to the south side. Bellamy shot something that looks like a hybrid between a squirrel and a rabbit.”

Bellamy leans over Clarke's shoulder, speaking directly into the radio. “More on the rabbit side. Also yes, I took it down while it was moving. In one shot.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes as she pushes Bellamy's face away with her hand, “we're hoping to have everything catalogued within half a year. When you guys get down here, we'll know every inch of this place, so that should make things easier.”

“We stopped by Polis,” Bellamy interjects, leaning forward again, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Still no luck on breaking through to the bunker, but we'll keep trying. We can at least remove as much rubble as we can so it'll be easier for all of us when you get down here. Also, you better be making Murphy and Echo pull their weight. I doubt the others are giving you trouble, or I hope not.”

Clarke turns to look at him, her eyebrows raised. “You think Raven is taking charge?”

“You don't?” Bellamy asks.

“Actually, yeah, I'm pretty sure she is.” Clarke shakes her head, smiling. “Her and Monty, probably. In that case—” she pulls the radio closer to her lips, “—good luck. With Murphy, you'll need it.”

The radio is silent.

“I'm going to put this on,” Bellamy murmurs, holding up their skinned dinner.

Clarke nods and speaks into the radio again. “Alright, me and Bellamy are signing off for a few days. He's making dinner, so I'm going to go gather fruit. Be safe, everyone. Over and out.”

“Fruit?” Bellamy asks.

“I want something sweet,” Clarke says with a shameless shrug. “It's been a while since we had meat, so it's an occasion.”

Bellamy snorts. “Fair enough. Get extra of those berries. They're my favorite.”

_“My_ favorite,” Clarke corrects, ignoring his grin and grabbing up her borrowed satchel. “Be back in a few. Don't eat without me.”

“Never do,” Bellamy calls out distractedly to her retreating back, barely paying attention to the sounds of her stepping into the woods.

He's a little focused on impaling their dinner through a metal bar that will turn at his discretion over a fire pit. He's planning to cook it slowly, maybe rub it down with some of the jams the Grounders had stored in their cabinets. It'd give it flavor, and it's like Clarke said, it's been a while since they had meat. They'd been planning to go fishing after their exploration today, but he'd snagged this instead.

It might pay off to lay out traps and revisit them to see what they'll catch. As good and plentiful as fish is, a variety sounds even better, and he's actually gotten quite good at hunting since being on the ground.

He finds himself thankful for the Valley. Almost even more thankful than when he first laid eyes upon it and recognized it as their salvation.

It's actually really large. It spans wide enough to have mountains, and there's so much more land than he'd expected. He just realized that today when they went south and walked for hours without even glimpsing the wasteland beyond. Clarke had drawn every new plant and flower they didn't already know, as well as drawing landmarks on the makeshift map they're creating. With time, they'll know this entire place, know what to eat and what not, know each and every lake and creek and river, climb every mountain just to reach the top. They have years, and he has no doubt that they'll do it just to say that they did.

Plus, they both know that this land will one day contain their people. He imagines what Octavia will look like when she first steps into the Valley, her face alight with wonder and excitement. He thinks about Raven’s laugh, Murphy's little quips, Monty’s beaming smile. Everyone will love it here, and it'll be the fresh start they all deserve.

Bellamy has hope, and it shows on his face these days in the form of a small smile. Even right now, he can feel the curl of his lips and the warmth in his chest, and honestly, it feels really good.

However, a scream suddenly splits the air, so shrill and loud that birds take off from trees. The sound is familiar and terrifying, and Bellamy's face goes blank as horror washes through him.

_Clarke._

He abandons dinner without a second thought, leaving it roasting over the fire, not caring that it'll get charred on one side. That doesn't matter. Nothing does, not when Clarke's scream is echoing in his ears. He grabs his gun on his way out of the Village and launches himself into the dense trees, feet pounding over the forest floor as he pushes himself as hard and fast as he ever has. He has tunnel-vision, focused solely on Clarke and nothing else.

He runs towards where the scream was, but he eventually can't find where it came from. He comes to a stumbling halt, his heart racing in his chest as he pants. He turns around in circles, looking around desperately, eyes wide as he looks for any sign of her, but he finds nothing.

“Clarke!” Bellamy bellows, a cold fear sliding down his back, mind hurtling too fast to focus through his panic for where she is, what happened, why she screamed, if she's even—

No, she's fine.

As if his doubts were somehow broadcasted, a weaker shout comes from his right, sounding closer and exhausted. He doesn't even hesitate, sprinting through the overgrowth, thin branches slicing into him as he runs as fast as his legs will carry him.

He ends up bursting through foliage to a riverbed, stacked rocks that hold Clarke. His first instinct is to sink down in relief to see her alive and well, but then he sees that she's hobbling and also crying, and that instinct dries up like _Praimfaya_ blasted through him.

“Clarke,” Bellamy gasps out, running forward to catch her arm, his eyes wide, “what the hell?”

“Bear trap,” Clarke grits out, nodding down to her injured leg, her pants soaked in black blood.

Bellamy swallows and ducks under her arm, holding all of her weight. “Okay, let's just get you back to the Village. We'll sew you up there.”

“Bellamy, we're not alone,” Clarke tells him through clenched teeth. When he stops, going cold all over, she looks up into his face with wide eyes. “There's a child. A girl, maybe? I don't know, but Bellamy, they're so young and alone...and _alive.”_

_“Natblida,”_ Bellamy blurts out, staring at her for a beat in pure shock. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, pulling Clarke along as he starts moving again. “Okay, we will worry about this as soon as you're better. Am I to take it that this child is the reason you ended up in a bear trap?”

Clarke groans, leaning her head over on his shoulder as she mutters, “They led me into the trap, so they're a survivor. I just wanted…”

“To help, I know,” Bellamy says with a sigh.

Clarke doesn't defend herself, probably because she knows she doesn't have a leg to stand on, figuratively and literally. After they make it about halfway back to the Village, her head starts lolling, indicating that she's either about to pass out or already has. It sets his teeth on edge, and without even a second thought, he reaches down to swing her up in his arms and carry her the rest of the way.

Her slurred protests go ignored.

When they arrive back to the Village, Bellamy curses under his breath to see that a portion of their dinner had been cut away and stolen. The child is crafty, he'll give them that. A thief, but a crafty one.

The kid did leave most of it there, at least, and they even rotated the catch so it wouldn't burn. He's guessing that the child hasn't had different meat for quite some time and couldn't resist taking some. It's smart to lead one away into a trap and have the other abandon the targeted food, he has to admit. Good strategy overall, but not really good for _them,_ seeing as Clarke's leg is torn to shit right now.

“You coulda just asked!” Bellamy shouts to the trees, frustrated as he bangs his way into their little home, depositing Clarke on the uneven tabletop.

“What fun would that be?” Clarke gasps out, pushing herself up with sweat dripping down her forehead. Her hands shake as she reaches out to peel away her pants, showing the gruesome wound with a grimace. “See? Isn't this fun?”

Bellamy tosses her a glare as he snatches open cabinets, looking for the medical supplies Clarke stocked up on when they swept the Village. “Don't make jokes when you're bleeding everywhere. You're not funny.”

“Go float yourself,” Clarke grumbles, leaning forward with a small hiss to point at the one cabinet Bellamy hasn't opened yet. “That one. Take a needle and go sterilize it on the fire. Hurry up.”

“I'm _going,”_ Bellamy snaps, grabbing what he needs and doing as he's told. It takes him less than a minute to get it done, and when he bursts back inside, Clarke holds out her hand. He stares at her. “Do you want me to? Or—or can you—”

“I've got it,” Clarke mutters, though her hands shake.

Bellamy _knows_ that it would be easier for her if he could do it, and it's not like he doesn't get how to. The problem is, he doesn't think his hands will be steadier than hers, even if she's trembling right now. He's shaking harder than her and he doesn't even know why. They've had worse, both of them, and they've come back from it. This is getting off light compared to some of the other things they've been through, and yet, he's freaking out just slightly.

That's what pushes him to hand her the needle and thread, watching mutely as she ties it off. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, then goes to work.

It's her screams that get him in the end. He can't hear it without flinching, nor can he stand the sight of her violently shaking hands and scrunched face. He can't take the pain away, but he can step up and make sure that the stitches are done properly and much quicker than she can do them herself. She gets through the first slice before he surges forward and grips her hands, gently peeling the needle from her grasp.

“I can do it,” Bellamy says firmly, pushing her shoulder back. “Just—just lay down and squeeze my leg, okay? I've got it.”

Clarke all but falls backwards, one hand stained black with her blood reaching out to grab his thigh as the other grabs a handful of her own hair to stuff in her mouth. She meets his eyes, then shuts them and nods frantically, her chest heaving.

Bellamy swallows and looks to the wound, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth and focus. He takes the plunge and winces at the sound of her muffled shouts, barely even noting the feeling of her fingers digging into his thigh. He words as quickly and cleanly as he can, pushing the needle through skin and pulling, over and over and over. It seems like it goes on forever, and he doesn't even realize she's stopped screaming and her hand has gone limp until he's finishing up the last stitch.

He looks over and she's passed out.

“Okay,” he says shakily, “now what? Come on, Bellamy, _think._ What would Clarke do?”

He glances around the room, staring into the cabinets. He sees the material that Clarke had grinned about, talking about how it would work as gauze to cover busted blisters or open wounds. Infection is an issue, right? He thinks he's heard her mention that open and uncovered wounds have a higher chance of getting infected. Wrapping it seems like a smart idea.

“God, I hope this doesn't make things worse,” Bellamy mutters as he gathers the Grounder gauze, moving back to the table to wrap the wound.

He's as careful as he can be, each move and touch gentle as if she's still awake. But she isn't. That alone worries him. He knows all about passing out from pain, but he doesn't know for sure if it was that or blood loss. Just in case, he grabs water and tilts her limp head up, forcing some into her mouth and plugging her nose so she'll reflexively swallow. He repeats that process a couple more times, then lifts her away from the table and carries her to the bed, lying her down, hoping she'll be more comfortable.

He doesn't lay with her. No, he gets up and goes outside to get their catch, bringing it into the house so no other sneaky _natblida_ children can steal some more. After all, when Clarke wakes, she'll probably be thankful to have something to eat.

Finally, he settles on the edge of the bed, frowning as he brushes a few sweaty strands of unruly blond hair away from her face.

He waits.

* * *

“I told you, Bellamy. I'm _fine.”_

Bellamy watches Clarke take another hobbled step with an arched eyebrow. She's leaning hard on the large branch she carted all the way from Polis—a part of the Commander’s throne, Lexa’s throne. In fairness, Clarke's wound does look a lot better after two days, and she can technically walk now, but he's still not jumping at the idea of her going traipsing through the woods to look for a child who not only caused her injury but stole some of their food.

She's pointed out over and over that it's _just_ a child, and it would be wrong of them to not try to help. While Bellamy agrees with her wholeheartedly, he knows that caution can be the action between life and death. He's not saying they abandon a child, just that they should maybe go about it carefully.

“We're not going far,” Bellamy tells her firmly. “Just back to the river where you last saw him. Or her.”

Clarke's gaze lands on his gun. “You're not bringing that with us.”

“The hell I'm not,” Bellamy bursts out, scowling.

“What are you going to do?” Clarke asks harshly, stumbling forward to glare at him. “Shoot a _child?”_

Bellamy scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No, of course I'm not shooting a kid. Are you insane? But I'm also not leaving my gun here. There could be anything out there in those woods, Clarke. Food, danger, _anything._ It comes with us, or we don't go.”

Clarke's eyebrows shoot up her head. “Oh? So, what, you think you're going to stop me? Just _try it.”_ Her gaze flicks to his gun. “It stays, or you do. Either way, I'm going, and you _can't_ stop me.”

“I literally can, but okay,” Bellamy mumbles, heaving a deep sigh as he reaches up to shove a hand through his curls. She tilts up her chin, turns around, and starts off in an uneven gait towards the woods. “Clarke! Clarke, you can't just—”

And she's gone.

Bellamy releases a growl and glares down at his gun, pursing his lips. Compromise. He can do that. Putting on a burst of speed, he runs into their house and sits his gun down, trading it in for Clarke's handgun that she left behind. He internally notes that her knife is missing, meaning she at least still means to protect herself, which pleases him. With a roll of his eyes at her defiance, he shoves her gun in the waist of his pants, hiding it beneath his shirt.

If nothing happens, no harm. If something does, then she'll thank him later. Probably.

With that, he turns back around and heads through the Village at a sprint, following her tracks into the woods. She hasn't gotten far, and she's not exactly being quiet, so he hears her before he sees her. He breaks through the trees and jogs up to fall into step beside her, holding his hands up when she looks at him with narrowed eyes.

“Thought you were bringing your gun?” she mutters sullenly, jabbing her branch into the ground with more force than absolutely necessary.

“Decided to leave my gun,” Bellamy says easily, arching an eyebrow at her. “You're just extra angry because you're in pain. Relax.”

Clarke's head whips around, snapping over so quick that he actually rears back a bit. “It's not because of the pain, Bellamy,” she bites out. “Do you think that child will come anywhere near us if you're carrying around a rifle? They are a _natblida,_ a Grounder, and they seem very self-sufficient. They're _smart._ That means that one sight of a gun will send them running, maybe for good.”

Bellamy heaves a sigh. “To where, Clarke? Where would they go? Look, I'm not disagreeing with you, but the gun isn't a threat. It's to keep us safe, even that child. We've seen snakes out here before, and a gun already fed us once. I'm just being practical.”

“Okay,” Clarke mutters, going back to hobbling forward. “But just say that the child attacked me. What would you do, then?”

“Wait for you to pull the knife I know you have and get a hold on the situation,” Bellamy replies dryly, arching an eyebrow when she glances at him. “I get it. Visible guns could escalate the situation. But you know as well as I do that walking around without protection, especially when you can't run, isn't a very good idea. You _know_ that.”

“Fine, we're both wrong?” Clarke holds out her hands and smiles without humor. “Happy?”

Bellamy snorts. “Just ecstatic. Now, stop being mad at me because you're hurting and scared for a kid who will no doubt be a handful. Not my fault.”

Clarke huffs and speeds up a little, audibly gritting her teeth, and he bites back a grin at her stubbornness. It's annoying, sure, but it's also kind of funny in this context. It's also really hard to be too annoyed with her when, just two days ago, he was fretting over her. Mostly, he's just glad she's okay enough to be so stubborn and annoying.

She's silent for a long time, eventually slowing, hobbling along with a furrow in her brow. He thinks about offering her a ride on his back, but he's almost certain that she'd just refuse. Too strong for her own good, sometimes. It's one of the things he likes and respects most about her, even if a part of him would appreciate it if she'd let him _help her._

He's surprised when she suddenly looks over at him and whispers, “I'm sorry. I—I know it's not your fault, Bellamy. I'm just… I don't know. There's a kid, and I can't walk very well, and I have no idea what comes next. I'm taking it out on you, and that's not fair.”

“No, not really,” he agrees, “but I get it.”

“Sorry,” Clarke says again, this time chagrined.

Bellamy smiles at her. “Yeah, well, I'm sorry for being overbearing. Octavia always hated it, and you'd think I'd learn by now that it's not the route to take with the stubborn women in my life. And yet.”

“And yet,” Clarke agrees, amused. She shakes her head and sighs. “Don't worry about it. You can't control me any more than you could her, and honestly, I think you know it won't work. You just do it because you feel like you have to, because you want to protect people, even when they don't need it.”

Bellamy considers that, tilting his head from side-to-side. He knows she's not insulting him, just bringing light to one of his attributes, not unlike he bluntly called her out for lashing out at him earlier. She's not wrong, just like he wasn't, and it's not arguing about each other's flaws; it's having a discussion about it with the one person who'll understand it the most. Even if Clarke doesn't always agree with him, she always understands him and his motives, and it's the same vice versa. It's been that way for a long time.

She makes a good point, to be fair. Bellamy knows he's tried controlling Octavia in the past. It's always well-meaning, trying to protect her, to keep her from getting hurt after he's failed so many times before. Even if he knew that it wouldn't work, he still tried because that's what he's always done.

_My sister, my responsibility,_ he thinks sadly. But really, deep down, he knows that Octavia will never be the little girl scurrying to hide under the floor in fear anymore. She's brave and strong, and maybe he has a hand in that, even if he wishes she didn't have to be. Ultimately, she does, they all do, and he's so proud of her that it hurts sometimes.

Maybe she's not wholly his responsibility anymore, but she'll always be his sister, and he'll still do whatever he can to make sure she's okay. That isn't a quality he'll ever lose, and he won't feel bad for it carrying over to others, especially not Clarke. She needs people to make sure she's okay sometimes, because more often than not, she isn't.

“Sometimes,” Bellamy murmurs, looking over at her pointedly, “they do need it. I'd rather give too much and be a bother than not give enough and miss the chance to be there when someone needs me.”

Clarke's face softens. “You're a good man, Bellamy. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Maybe in passing, once or twice,” Bellamy teases, smirking at her.

“Does that mean you're going to do the same for this kid?” Clarke asks him, watching him with intent, her expression open and serious all at once. This is the thing they haven't fully discussed yet, but she's apparently diving into it now. “If they will come back with us, you'll care for them, right?”

Bellamy arches an eyebrow at her. “Is that even a question? It's a _kid.”_

“Yeah,” Clarke says, her lips curling up as she looks away, “that's what I figured you'd say.”

“We'll see what happens,” Bellamy allows carefully, rolling his eyes when Clarke turns the full blast of her smile over to him, as if she's proud.

They make it back to the river a little bit later, and Clarke audibly sighs in relief as she hobbles over to the rocks and eases down. She leaves her injured leg stretched out and pulls her pack into her lap, not looking up when he plops down beside her.

Their plan is simple.

Bellamy knows kids. Well, he knows them better than most guys his age. He's already helped raise one, so he has a general idea of what to do with them. Maybe he doesn't always get it right, like times with Octavia or that time with Charlotte, but he's usually good at gauging how to help them.

His guess is that this kid sticks close to the river for the fish and a ready source of water, which is smart. A day like this around this time is perfect for fishing, so if the child is nearby, they're going to come here. But with Bellamy and Clarke lingering, chances are that they won't come out in the open. The goal here is to act like background and feign disinterest until the kid either gets bored of waiting for them to do something or gets curious about what they're doing. Either way, the kid will eventually approach, hopefully, and as long as they don't react, the kid might just stay.

It's a long game, but it's all they got. Just as Clarke does, he wants to help the child, not scare them off. If the kid will trust them, that's even better.

So, they packed up a few things for them to do. Clarke will be drawing, probably the kid from memory, and Bellamy plans to write. He's been doing a lot of that recently, trying to get down stories from history and mythology on paper, distantly pained by the fact that all those books that contain the stories are now gone. He doesn't want them to disappear, he wants to get them on paper so that maybe, one day, others will read them and enjoy them the way he did.

It doesn't take as long as he's expecting for the child to appear, and he thinks maybe they're lonely out here. He's only through two pages when Clarke nudges his elbow, and he takes a quick glance through his curly hair. He immediately sees why Clarke wasn't sure if the child was a boy or girl, at least not from one glance.

The child is unbelievably filthy, hair matted, covered in dirt and mud so that it's hard to make out their features. It takes Bellamy a few moments to tell, but he eventually works out that she's a little girl. She's really young, heart-wrenchingly so, and she's wearing worn clothing with holes and tears. She also appears to be carrying a spear, so there's that.

He glances away quickly when she lifts her head and looks at them, and Clarke ducks her head, no doubt forcing herself not to look up. He turns his gaze to the drawing, watching Clarke go into more detail, adding lines to the clothes and smudging the hair.

Bellamy carefully goes back to writing.

Movement out of the corner of his eye and the sound of a splash makes it impossible to keep from looking up. Clarke joins him in looking over, and they watch the girl pierce a fish with her spear, her technique quick and neat. The way she grabs the fish is a little sloppy, though, and she stuffs it—still flopping around and all—in the fold of her shirt.

Slowly, she looks up at them, and they're all just staring at each other. Bellamy knows better than to speak, holding still and staying relaxed as she scans them from head to toe with distrust in her eyes. Her gaze seems to catch on Clarke's leg, and he watches her little mouth curl down into a frown, though he can't imagine why. He looks over to see what has her so visibly confused, then realizes that she's staring at the black blood stains clinging to Clarke's pants.

Her eyes snap to him, and cautiously, he pulls his shirt out so she can see the black blood stains on his shirt, too. He hopes that conveys that he, too, has blood just like her and Clarke, though it baffles him slightly to think that he'd be using that as a selling point to get someone to trust him.

Times have really changed.

“Hey,” Clarke calls softly. The girl tenses up, holding her spear tighter, and Clarke holds very still. “It's okay, we won't hurt you. Could you teach us how to catch the fish like you do?”

The girl narrows her eyes. _“Fleimkepa,”_ she snarls, though she still looks a little confused.

_“Natblida,”_ Bellamy corrects, gesturing to Clarke then himself.

The girl frowns harder, then turns around and takes off, disappearing into the trees. Bellamy blows out a deep breath and looks over to Clarke, noting her disappointment. They knew that was a possible reaction, but it still sucks.

“Well, at least she spoke,” Clarke says finally.

Bellamy snorts. “There's that. Come on, we should get back. We can come back tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Clarke murmurs, gathering their things. After a beat, she looks out to the woods the girl disappeared into, holding the drawing up. Then, without hesitation, she leaves it sitting on the rock and pushes to her feet to follow Bellamy home.

On the way, Bellamy shoots another one of those squirrel-rabbit hybrids, and Clarke doesn't even look that surprised.

* * *

“It figures that the only people I have on earth with me right now is Bellamy and the child from Hell,” Clarke is saying into the radio, rolling her eyes. “Raven, it's like I'm being punished.”

Bellamy snorts and pokes their most recent catch, a fish this time. Well, two. One for each of them. They worked pretty hard at the river today, and they made progress in more ways than one. Though the girl hasn't said a word to them since her first, she stops seeming so wary of them each time they come back. Today was the fourth visit, and she actually came close enough to take the drawing that Clarke handed to her. Even though she ran away right after, Bellamy considers it a major win.

“I don't know, Raven,” Clarke murmurs with a sigh. “It might be a little longer before we get this Valley mapped out. This kid is kind of our focus right now. Outside of that, we've been doing pretty good. My leg barely hurts anymore, so I'll probably be taking the stitches out soon. Oh, and—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says sharply, his head raising at the sound of a twig snapping to their left.

Clarke instantly goes silent and still, holding the radio even as her eyes snap over to where the sound came from. It's silent for a long time, long enough that Bellamy is about to grab his gun and go investigate, but then a tiny portion of a face pokes out from behind a tree. Slowly, Clarke puts down the radio, and Bellamy shares a weighted look with her.

“Hey,” Clarke says calmly. “Are you hungry?”

The face disappears behind the tree for a moment, then the girl fully steps into view. She's holding up her own fish, almost like she's prepared to use it as a weapon, and she approaches slowly. Her gaze flicks over the Village for the barest of moments, only to instantly turn back to them.

_“Randzi,”_ she says, meaning _skilled cook._ She nods towards Bellamy and holds her fish out.

“Okay,” Bellamy says casually, slowly reaching out with his palm facing upwards. He waits, looking at her with a small smile, and it takes a long moment for her to dart forward and drop off the fish in his palm. She immediately skitters back a few steps, but he just adds the fish to the grate over the fire, nodding at her calmly. _“Muchof.”_

Clarke's ability to speak Grounder far surpasses his, but he's picked up a few things from her, Octavia, Kane, Lincoln, and Indra. Saying thank you to the little girl seems to make her shy all of a sudden, and she curls into herself, hiding behind her hair. He glances over at Clarke, raising his eyebrows.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, though she's looking at the little girl. It takes a moment, but the girl looks up, and Clarke points to Bellamy, repeating his name again. “Bell-uh-me. Bellamy.”

The girl flicks her gaze between them, then slowly says, “Bellamy.”

Clarke nods. “That's right. I'm Clarke.” She touches her chest and says it again, slower. “Clarke.”

“Clarke,” the girl murmurs.

“Yes,” Clarke says, beaming. She points to the girl, curiosity in her gaze. “And you? Your name?”

The girl looks at Clarke's hand, then presses her own hand to her chest before saying, “Madi.”

“Madi,” Clarke whispers, looking over at Bellamy with a pleased smile.

Bellamy grins back. “It's nice to meet you, Madi,” he says easily, nodding at the girl.

Clarke holds up her hand, slowly pushing to her feet. Madi takes a step back but doesn't immediately bolt, and she even looks a little disappointed when Clarke suddenly turns around and heads into the house. Bellamy continues to cook, stealing glances at Madi every few seconds. She's so _young._

When Clarke returns, she's holding her papers, the drawings she's done in the time she's been here. Madi takes a step forward, obviously curious, and Clarke waves her over. Bellamy watches as Madi moves closer slowly, eventually standing right beside him to peer over Clarke's shoulder, seemingly enthralled with the drawings. Bellamy smiles and rotates the fish.

“This,” Clarke starts, “is Octavia…”

* * *

Days start to blur together. They fall in a steady routine that blindsides Bellamy, one he doesn't regret for even one moment. It's not necessarily easy, but it is time consuming, and it keeps them busy.

At first, the routine is more awkward and uncertain. Madi doesn't stick around for long to begin with. There are moments they'll look up and she'll just be gone. The first time that happened, Bellamy almost had a heart attack for absolutely no reason besides the fact that a child just went missing. Clarke, surprisingly enough, did not lose her collective shit for once and suggested they wait and see what would happen, which turned out to be a good thing.

Madi came back, then left again, then came back, then left, came back and left and came back and...

Finally after about two weeks of her up and disappearing the second they took their eyes off of her, she stayed one night. When they were ready to go to sleep and Madi was still there, they didn't actually know what to do at first. Or rather, _Bellamy_ didn't. Clarke, however, offered Madi the bed in their little home without even a second thought, and Madi surprised him by actually taking it.

Bellamy had been unable to fall asleep that night, listening to Madi’s soft breathing, getting used to the new addition. He wasn't the only one.

Clarke had rolled over to face him like she almost never did, and she whispered, “It's okay, right? For you, I mean. That she's here?”

“It's okay,” Bellamy had told her, because it was.

Madi didn't leave after that, and that's when the routine evened itself out. Clarke had promptly begun teaching Madi English—she already had been, here and there, but this is when the lessons really started. She also finally managed to convince Madi to let her clean and fix her hair. The way she convinced her to do this was by letting Bellamy stand behind her in their kitchen while she sat on the table, her legs swinging as he cut her hair. Madi had watched with detached interest, then climbed up on the table and turned around for the same treatment.

“How do we look?” Clarke has asked playfully, swinging her own chin-length hair and ruffling Madi’s slightly shorter hair—he'd only taken a few inches off, enough to make it easier to brush.

Bellamy had looked between them and smiled, shaking his head as he said, “You both look beautiful, as always,” and he'd meant it entirely.

Clarke had blinked rapidly at that, but Madi beamed, having learned what that word meant already.

From there, things only became more normal with time. Bellamy went out to hunt every day, and Madi would opt to go with him. He'd been hesitant at first, that knee-jerk reaction to protest because she was so young, but he'd also been open to spending more time with her. Up until that point, she spent most of her time with Clarke, though she did seem to like him well enough.

His reservations about her going hunting with him went down the drain fairly quickly. Madi is a good student, curious, and she takes pointers very well. In the woods, she's quieter than he is, and she's a damn good climber. She also never hesitates to strike when he tells her to, and when he teaches her how to throw her spear with better aim, she listens intently and rarely misses ever again. After that, she's at the edge of the woods every day when he's about to go off hunting, and he smiles as they go.

During their little hunting excursions, Clarke is off mapping more of the island. She's gone a little bit longer each day, spreading her search further, and it starts to put him on edge when he gets home with Madi and she's not back by then. When she starts coming home even later, almost dark, he asks her if she's willing to plan out trips where all three of them could spend a few days out exploring the Valley. Instead of her going farther each day, they could take a few days off every other week and all go together, camping out in the woods. She takes one look at him, then glances at Madi, and she doesn't even protest.

Madi starts speaking broken English, but also speaking _more_ in general, and she's always asking questions. She wants to learn how to read, and she wants to learn how to draw like Clarke, and she always, _always_ wants to know stories about their friends. That's usually how she goes to sleep, listening to them tell her tales of their friends that are no longer here but will one day return. As of right now, her favorite is Octavia—which pleases Bellamy more than he'll admit—and it doesn't look subject to change any time soon.

Clarke says something to him one night that he's unlikely to ever forget. “If the world had to burn for us to become heroes, for our stories to become legends, does that mean we'll be remembered after we're gone? Does that mean that everything we did won't matter one day?”

“Only time will tell,” he replies, a lump forming in his throat, “but god, I really hope so.”

In a way, time slows down and speeds up all at once. He and Clarke have had multiple conversations about it, but they're pretty sure Madi is six or seven. They want her to have her youth, or whatever part of it she can have in this world, so they do their best to give it to her. That means giving into her curiosity, teaching her whatever she takes an interest in, watching her grow and learn more each day.

There's something incredibly special about it. Bellamy watched Octavia grow and learn, but this is different. She had to hide for the entirety of her childhood, so her life was limited in a way Madi’s isn't. Not only that, but Octavia grew up on the Ark, used to the same things Bellamy was. Madi is a Grounder child, and her interest in how they do things is the equivalent of her stepping into another world. It's compelling to watch and be a part of.

Madi surprises him one day on their usual hunting expedition by looking over at him and asking him a question, haltingly and hesitantly, partly because she's still learning English, partly because she seems to really care about his answer. Her eyes are wide and her voice is small in a way it usually isn't. Just then, her innocence shines through so brightly that he comes to a screeching halt the moment the uncertain words leave her lips.

“When the rest, Raven and Octavia and Murphy get back, will I go?” Her face twists and she looks frustrated, a furrow in her brow that he'd swear he's seen on Clarke before. “You and Clarke make me leave when real family get back?”

Bellamy will never be able to describe the emotion that flows through him from that question, and he's fully unprepared for it. He's also not equipped to handle the blatant wariness on her face that plainly tells him that she doesn't want to go. It hurts him in a way he doesn't expect, and he has to take a moment to collect himself before slowly kneeling down in front of her, looking at her.

Madi is small and ungainly at this age, but he has no doubts that she'll grow into herself in the coming years. Though her face is round with childish sweetness and the top of her head only barely reaches his stomach, he looks at her in that moment and does not see a child. He sees a person who's gone through some horrific things and survived, who's been so wary to connect with others but brave enough to, who stands before him now with no shame to face her seemingly only fear of being turned away.

This is when he realizes that he would die before he let anything take her away from him and Clarke.

“Madi,” Bellamy says gently, reaching out to hold her shoulders and meet her eyes so she can see the truth in his, “you _are_ my real family. You never, ever have to leave me and Clarke, okay?”

Madi stares at him for a moment, then whispers, “I stay forever?”

“Forever,” Bellamy confirms in a croak.

The surprise of her question in the first place is nothing compared to the shock of her tripping forward a little to throw her tiny arms around his neck and cling to him. Kneeling in the forest, he wraps his arms around her and hugs her back, politely ignoring the way she sniffles against his neck. His heart pangs at the tenderness of the moment, and all he really wants to do is get back to Clarke.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling her back to smile at her reassuringly. “What do you say to me and you head back and spend today with Clarke? We'll swing by and get some fish for dinner before heading home. How does that sound?”

Madi nods. “Okay.”

With that, like she hasn't just shredded his heart to pieces or anything, she skips off in the direction of her favorite river. He blows out a deep breath, pushes to his feet with a shake of his head, and he follows her.

Clarke looks confused when they return earlier than usual. She probably doesn't mind the company, overall, but he still hopes they're not intruding. It's not like she sits around and does nothing while he and Madi are off hunting. Actually, she's probably doing more than they are, but that's Clarke for you.

She's been testing plants to see which ones have medicinal properties, which ones can be used for and with food, and which ones they can use for hygiene purposes. So far, Bellamy’s fond of the little yellow plant she's grinded up and hardened into a makeshift bar of soap—it smells like tree sap with a hint of something fruity, and it's often distracting enough that he finds himself accidentally sniffing Clarke's hair when they're laying in the same bed at night.

Not only has she been doing that, but she's also taken to making more ammo, which isn't exactly an easy task with their limited resources. Still, she's determined, so he leaves her to it and helps when she'll deal with him bugging her. On top of that, she's started keeping a legitimate catalogue of all the things they've come across in the Valley so far—everything from plants to animals, to places to hide, to rivers and lakes and so on. And if that's not enough for her to do, she still finds the time to draw, radio Raven, _and_ teach Madi every day.

She tells him all the time that these are long-term projects, so she's in no rush with any of them, which is fair. It's not like she pushes herself to finish anything every day; in fact, it almost seems like she's relishing in the leisurely way she gets to approach things these days. It makes her happier, more relaxed, and he's thinking about finding a long-term project of his own. But first…

“Did something happen?” Clarke asks him quietly the moment Madi is in the house, sounding out the sentences Clarke has written for her.

Bellamy flops down at the outside table, staring up at her helplessly. “Clarke, she asked me if we were going to send her away when our real family got back.”

_“What?”_ Clarke's eyes bulge, then immediately water, and she slowly sinks down on the bench across from him. “Bellamy, tell me you told her we wouldn't.”

“Of _course_ I told her we wouldn't.” Bellamy reaches up to tug at his hair a bit. It's getting a little long, but at this particular moment, he doesn't care. “I—I told her that she was our real family and that she could stay forever. She _hugged_ me, Clarke.”

This is a surprising development, he knows that, so he's expecting her to react as she does, her lips parting around a shaky exhale. It had taken Madi quite some time to trust them enough to allow them to touch her, even on the shoulder, and she's not one to initiate contact. The fact that she willingly hugged him means a lot, and they both know it.

After a long moment where Clarke processes everything, she takes a deep breath and nods. “Well, I guess we'll just—just keep doing what we've been doing and prove it to her. It looks like we're in this for the long haul.”

“We were in this from the moment you chased her through the woods and we both know it,” Bellamy mumbles, staring down at his hands.

“Hey,” Clarke says, slowly reaching across the table to lay her hands over his. She frowns. “If you're not—if you don't want—”

“Don't,” Bellamy cuts her off, flipping his hands over to catch hers, holding them tight as he stares at her, deeply serious. “Do not even finish that sentence. You know me, Clarke, or I thought you did, at least. If you think, for even a moment, that I won't help Madi and be there for her, then maybe you don't.”

“No, I just—” Clarke halts, her shoulders sagging as she releases a slow breath. “I don't want you to feel like you have to because I want to.”

“Have you considered that I want to?” Bellamy asks her, raising his eyebrows. His face softens when Clarke swallows. “She's an amazing kid, Clarke. More than that, she has no one. I care about her so much already, and I won't just let that go.”

Clarke clears her throat. Twice. “Parenting is kind of an all-in thing, Bellamy.”

“I'd know that better than you would,” Bellamy replies easily, just being honest. “Trust me when I say I know what I'm doing. Do _you?”_

“No,” Clarke admits, “but I'm doing it anyway.”

Bellamy's lips twitch. “Sounds like you. Also, there's literally no point to this conversation. Madi’s been here for months now. She's not leaving; neither of us would let that happen. She's ours now, our family.”

“It just seems more real now,” Clarke murmurs, squeezing his hands and sighing. “She really hugged you? Did she cry? Please tell me she didn't cry.”

“She cried, but only a little,” Bellamy tells her apologetically. “It's okay, she's fine. She was just worried and I reassured her, that's all.”

Clarke chews her lip and glances back to the house, blue eyes shining with worry. “Should I bring it up? Maybe talk to her about it?”

“I wouldn't.” Bellamy slides his hands out from under Clarke's, smiling when she looks over at him. There's a twig stuck in her hair, so he reaches over to pull it free, fiddling with it mindlessly. “If she brings it up, sure, but I get the feeling she won't want to talk about it again, not yet anyway. Actions speak louder than words, so we just keep showing her for now.”

“That's fair,” Clarke says with an agreeable nod. After a beat, she stares at him and releases a slightly delirious huff of laughter. “God, Bellamy, we adopted a child to take care of.”

Bellamy chuckles wryly. “Well, hey, at least we have something to focus on. I doubt we'll go insane now.”

“You say that now. Just wait until she hits her rebellious phase,” Clarke teases, lips curling up.

“We have a while until then.”

“Years.”

Bellamy nods, slowly pushing to his feet. Clarke lingers at the table for a moment, seeming lost in thought, and he pauses to look at her. He tries to picture co-parenting a child in this situation with anyone else, then can't. Warmed by how lucky he is, he bends over to drop a kiss off on the top of her hair, only for it to turn into a half-hug because she leans into him. The side of her head ends up pressed against his chest, his hand cupping and stroking her shorter hair, her hand wrapped loosely around his other wrist, both of them leaning on each other.

“I'm glad it's you,” she whispers.

Bellamy closes his eyes and smells her hair. It's really nice. “Was just thinking the same thing.”

Clarke pulls away and smiles up at him. “I'm going to help Madi with her sentences. You'll cook?”

“Always do. I'm _Randzi,_ remember?” Bellamy murmurs, watching her stand up with a laugh.

“You won't let me forget.” Clarke starts towards the house, smiling over her shoulder, slipping in the house after yelling out, “Call us when it's ready!”

Bellamy huffs a laugh, ducking his head against the swell of _happiness_ in his chest, almost making it hard to breathe. It's a feeling he's not fully accustomed to, but he thinks he could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Let me know! If you enjoyed this, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I appreciate every single one! See y'all lovelies next Friday ;)
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


	3. Year Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday, folks! 
> 
> Got a couple of light, soft moments in this chapter. A few heavy, rough moments. The usual. Nothing as bad as the show, and The 100 doesn't have the balls to give any characters a break. I'm braver, so they get some reprieve ;) 
> 
> With that being said, enjoy!

The first year slips into the second without much fanfare, and in all honesty, Clarke barely notices. She's been keeping track of the days, but it becomes an afterthought once her day gets started. She feels a little bad when she goes days past the first year mark without contacting Raven.

“Well, it's day 382. Sorry, I meant to radio at the end of the first year, but Madi, Bellamy, and I were exploring the Valley. Raven, you're all going to love it here. It's—I can't even begin to explain how amazing it is. We've got it mapped out in full now, but it still feels like we discover something new every day.”

The radio, as always, doesn't so much as crackle with interference. Clarke tips her head and stares up at the canopy of trees. It's pretty late for her to be outside, but she hadn't been able to sleep, so she slipped out while Madi and Bellamy slept on. She sighs and leans back against the windshield of the Rover where she's sprawling out, bringing the radio closer to her mouth so she can continue speaking.

“Madi is doing great. She's getting taller, even if Bellamy denies it—he just doesn't want her to grow up. But her English is really good now, and I make sure she still speaks Trigedasleng. I don't want her to lose that part of herself, you know? Oh, and Octavia is still her favorite, by the way, but don't worry...she thinks you're the smartest.” Clarke smiles and shakes her head, trying to look past the treetops to see the stars. She can only see a glimpse. “She's right, you are. I hope you're being safe up there. By now, Monty should have that algae farm really going. I wish I could send some food up to you because the Valley has plenty, but I'm sure you're all making do. Murphy and Emori, especially. They can survive anything. And Echo, I imagine. I hope you're all getting along.”

The Rover suddenly starts shaking, and Clarke looks over in alarm for a split second—that natural fight or flight instinct kicking in—but it's just Bellamy. He's climbing up to sit next to her, still yawning and looking ruffled with sleep.

“Talking to Raven?” he asks gruffly.

Clarke hovers the radio over his mouth. “Say hi.”

“Hi,” Bellamy grunts dutifully.

“Couldn't sleep?” Clarke asks, lying the radio down on her chest, letting it rest there.

Bellamy settles against the Rover and rolls his head over to squint at her. “I was sleeping just fine ‘til I woke up and you were gone. Was worried for a minute. Wake me up next time.”

“Go back to sleep, I'm fine.”

“Nah. Why are you up?”

Clarke doesn't reply for a long moment, then sighs quietly. “Nightmares. I didn't want to wake you or Madi up. Plus, I mean, it's been a while since I reached out to Raven. A couple months now. I feel bad that I keep forgetting.”

“We've been busy,” Bellamy says easily, nudging her shoulder with his. He's looking at her with concern in his eyes, and it's no surprise that he's not going to let the nightmare thing go. “You can wake me up if you're having nightmares, you know that, right? If you want to talk, or—or you don't want to be awake by yourself. I have them, too.”

“What are yours about?” Clarke asks, morbidly curious. She can guess, but she still wants to know.

“I see the faces of the people I've killed,” Bellamy tells her without even missing a beat. His throat does bob, though, and he looks away. “I see the people I couldn't save, and I see my sister dying, and sometimes I wake up alone—you and Madi are just _gone,_ and no matter how much I search, I can never find you. Or, worse, I do find you, but you're both…”

He stops talking, and Clarke is grateful for that. She doesn't want to hear anymore. It hurts her heart, brings tears to her eyes, and she _gets it._ Her nightmares are much of the same, equally horrible and terrifying, so damn dreadful that she can't get to sleep after. She'll just pant in the dark and tell herself over and over that it's not real.

But it is.

Those people that she killed, that she couldn't save… They will stay with her forever, and she thinks she deserves to be haunted by them. She knows all their names, knows all their faces, and she won't ever forget them, no matter how much time passes.

The only person who gets that is Bellamy. He knows what it's like to kill, to be too late, to suffer loss. He's made mistakes. He's failed to act before. He's acted too quickly, or when he shouldn't have. He understands better than anyone else what it feels like to be terrified of doing anything when your actions only cause disaster, but doing nothing isn't an option either because it produces the same results. Make a call, or don't, and no matter what, it goes wrong.

“My nightmares are like that, too,” Clarke admits, slowly turning to look at him. “Let's just make a deal to wake each other up from now on.”

Bellamy glances over at her, chuckling dryly. “Fair warning, Clarke, my nightmares are pretty consistent. I'll be waking you up pretty often.”

“Not if I wake you up first,” Clarke replies simply.

“We're really messed up,” Bellamy notes, almost sardonically amused. He shakes his head and goes back to looking up at the stars. “Madi is going to ask you to draw a family portrait, by the way.”

Clarke blinks. “Is she? Why?”

“I was telling her what it was like on the Ark. I mentioned off-hand that I used to have a picture of me, Octavia, and my mom that I kept hidden. She asked if the three of us could have a picture, and I told her the closest we could come to it would be a drawing, so she's planning to ask you.”

“If I start doing that, you know I'll have to do it every year. It'll become a tradition.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Bellamy asks.

“Well, no, I guess not,” Clarke murmurs. She laughs softly and threads her fingers over his stomach. “It'll be nice to have something to document Madi’s growth. Face facts, Bellamy, we're going to look up one day and she won't be so little anymore.”

Bellamy sighs. “You have no idea how true that is. Don't remind me. Maybe if we try hard enough, she'll just stay this young forever.”

“She's so special, and she will grow into an amazing woman,” Clarke says seriously. She reaches over and snaps her fingers beside Bellamy's face, making him wrinkle his nose and look over at her. “She's probably the only thing we've ever done right, and I'm actually looking forward to all the years we have. I'm not rushing it, but I wouldn't stay here forever, just because I want to see her grow into herself just like we did. But, unlike us, she'll be better. I know she will.”

“I don't doubt it,” Bellamy agrees softly, batting her hand away from his face. “These next four years aren't the problem. It's the ones after that, the unknown. The others will come back, that bunker will open, and we won't be alone anymore.”

“You're worried,” Clarke realizes.

Bellamy grimaces. “Don't get me wrong, if I could have the others come back today, right now, I would. That doesn't mean I'm looking forward to the change. Anything could happen. Something _always_ happens.”

“We won't let anything happen _to her,”_ Clarke tells him seriously. “You know we won't.”

“It's kind of nice, isn't it?” Bellamy whispers, holding her gaze. “Having one person to protect, one that you'd die for. We don't have to care about ourselves, just her. But, because we care about her, we take care of ourselves _for_ her. It's not as...stifling.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees lightly, “it is nice.”

That's the thing, it _is_ nice. Really nice, actually. When they first made it to the Valley, they feared that living only for themselves and each other alone would drive them insane. They would have done it for each other, that's a given, but it would have been much harder. Having Madi makes it easy to take a breath, then another, and not feel bad about it.

Surviving doesn't feel like a chore, not for her; it feels like a necessity, and it's been a long time since they've felt that for themselves.

“The others are going to adore her,” Bellamy murmurs, and it makes her laugh. He grins at her, shrugging shamelessly. “What? You can't deny it. They'll take one look at her and love her. Especially Octavia. She's going to be so happy to know how much Madi worships her.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “And you just _know_ Murphy will be so smug that she thinks he's funny. Raven will probably try and teach her everything. Monty and Harper would just be like...what's the term? Godparents? Is that it?”

“I think so.” Bellamy looks over at her, frowning suddenly. “Actually, that's a thing to think about. If something happens to us, who would we want to...you know? Take care of her in our place?”

Clarke considers that, frowning. “If I didn't have you, I'd say you.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe my mom? Or, I don't know. That's hard. Can't it just be a group effort?”

Bellamy exhales a heavy laugh and reaches over to pluck the radio off Clarke's chest, speaking directly into it. “Listen up, we've got some news. This may come as a shock to all of you, but in the case of some unfortunate and unforeseen event resulting in mine and Clarke's absence, you all have a kid to take care of. Octavia and Abby, too. Congrats, you're all secondary parents now.”

“Aunts and uncles and grandparents,” Clarke corrects, rolling over to speak into the radio with a laugh. They share a grin, and she rolls her eyes. “We expect all of you to do what's best for her, or we'll find some way to come back and give endless lectures.”

“And you all know how bad Clarke's lectures are,” Bellamy teases, nearly dropping the radio with a yelp when she makes a halfhearted swipe at him.

Clarke rolls her eyes and snatches the radio, sitting it aside and shaking her head at him. “Why are we even talking about this? Everything is over, and it's all easy from here on out. A new start for everyone.”

“I wish I could go back and tell myself from a year ago, or two—or any past version of myself, really—that I'd end up here,” Bellamy murmurs.

“Would you change anything?” Clarke asks, peering over at him curiously. “If you could, would you do anything differently?”

Bellamy stares at her. “If it meant I didn't end up here, then no, I wouldn't change a thing.”

That's a pretty heavy statement, and Clarke knows it. There are many things that they undoubtedly wish they could go back and do differently, people they wish they could save, wars they wish they could stop. But, if it meant losing this, losing Madi, it's hard to say that they would go back, given the chance.

Clarke feels the exact same as him, and it hits her all over again just how lucky she is. Having him through all of this makes it easier. They're doing it all together, surviving, raising a child, growing. She tries to picture doing it alone or with anyone else, and that's not an image she wants to linger on. She could do it, is the thing, and probably would, but she wouldn't feel like this; she wouldn't be this happy, she'd feel alone.

“Who'd have thought?” Clarke murmurs, rolling over into him and sitting her head on his shoulder, staring down at where her hand wraps around his arm. “Me and you, after where we began, doing this?”

“Sounds crazy,” Bellamy says in amusement, ducking his head to drop off a kiss to the crown of her hair. She smiles against him. “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Clarke agrees, settling against him and closing her eyes, relaxing gradually.

She falls asleep, but she doesn't have a nightmare.

She dreams.

* * *

“G-r-e-e-n.”

Clarke can't contain the smile that lights up her face, and Bellamy twitches beside her. _“Yes,_ Madi, that's it. Okay, how do you spell...Bellamy?”

“B-e-l-l-a-m-y,” Madi replies immediately, sitting up a little straighter. She narrows her eyes. “Madi. M-a-d-i. Clarke. C-l-a-r-k...e?”

“Yeah, there's an _e_ at the end, kiddo,” Bellamy tells her with a snort. “Look, there you go, Clarke. She can write it properly and everything. Now, can we go?”

Clarke holds up a warning finger. “Just one last thing. Mine and Bellamy's names and titles in Trigedasleng, go,” she says seriously.

Madi sighs. _“Klark kom Skaikru, Bellomi kom Skaikru._ There. Can we go _now?”_

“That's the easiest last question of any test ever,” Bellamy mutters. He clicks his tongue when Clarke shoots him a look. “What? It's _true._ She's not going to just forget Trig, Clarke.”

“She could,” Clarke mumbles, put out. When they both stare at her with identical expectant looks, she folds with a sigh. “Oh, _alright._ Come on, let's go.”

“Yes!” Madi hisses excitedly, launching to her feet and grabbing her pack in one motion, bursting out of the house as fast as her little legs will carry her.

Bellamy grins after her, then stands up to grab his pack at a much slower place. “She's absolutely going to run us ragged today.”

“You encourage her,” Clarke says dryly, grabbing her pack and heading for the door. She tries to throw him a scolding look, but he just winks and her lips twitch up in reflex. “Don't forget to grab the tent. Madi itched for days the last time we forgot it. I _think_ she's mildly allergic to something outside, I just haven't figured out what it is yet.”

“Got it,” Bellamy tells her easily.

Clarke heads outside, stepping off the little porch Bellamy has been expanding over time. Madi’s at the edge of the woods, bouncing on the balls of her toes, blue-green eyes bright with excitement. She's been looking forward to this trip for weeks.

As a seven (or close to it) year old, she finds joy in some of the simplest things. A trip through the valley for a few days, nothing but her, them, and nature is one of her favorite things. Though they have the Valley mapped out in full, they still haven't learned everything there is to learn about it, so they regularly go out to document more. For Madi, these are the trips where she gets to leave what's become her home and explore. It's also the time when Clarke and Bellamy tell her stories of their past and their friends, which she always enjoys.

Clarke reaches Madi just as Bellamy is leaving the house, and he jogs over to catch up with them. He ruffles Madi’s hair and completely misses the way Madi follows him with her eyes, like he's the best thing in the entire world. She's always like that about Bellamy, just oozing adoration and admiration, and Clarke _swears_ that he's her favorite.

Bellamy does not agree, nor does he see it. He's fairly sure it's the opposite, and he voices this to her often. He claims that Madi emulates her—entirely missing the way Madi mimics him—and says that it's obvious she wants to be just like Clarke. It's a regular, lighthearted disagreement they have, one that they do not speak about in front of her for fear of making her uncomfortable in any way.

In reality, Madi loves them both, and they know it. They're her entire world, and she wants to be like both of them, wants their approval and wants to learn from them and wants their love. Of course they know this, but it's kind of an inside joke they have to playfully tease the other that they're Madi’s favorite.

Still, Clarke's heart does a funny thing in her chest when Madi runs forward to stand next to Bellamy and slip her small hand into his. Bellamy just smiles down at her and holds on without a second thought.

Clarke bites the inside of her lip so hard that she can taste the metallic tang of her blood, and she worries her teeth will stain black. Taking a quick drink, she collects herself and follows after them.

“Can you tell me the story of Octavia again?” Madi asks for probably the hundredth time at this point, tipping her face up towards Bellamy, her eyes wide in a pleading fashion.

Bellamy is a sucker for those eyes, so he shoots Clark an amused look over his shoulder before beginning the story. “Once upon a time, there was this girl. She was born in a castle in Space, but she wasn't supposed to be. People in this castle were only supposed to have one child, but this girl was the second. So, for most of her life, she had to hide and stay a secret. She had her mom and she had her older brother, who loved her very much. He wanted her to be happy, but the girl was sad because she had to hide under the floor.”

“The brother,” Clarke cuts in, knowing this is a hard part for him, “wanted to keep her from being sad, so he tried to do a good thing. One night, there was a dance, and all the guests had to wear masks. So, he thought that she could sneak out in disguise and have a night where she wouldn't be able to hide. He just wanted to make her happy.”

“He didn't mean for anything bad to happen to her, but it did anyway,” Bellamy takes over gruffly. He swallows thickly, his smile growing tight. “She was taken away from her family and imprisoned for simply existing. And later, she was sent down with one hundred other bad kids to the ground.”

“We're back, bitches,” Madi says dutifully, already knowing this entire story, though she never grows tired of hearing it. When Bellamy chuckles at her, as he always does when she quotes Octavia, she beams.

“Yeah, exactly,” Clarke tells her, walking forward to smooth a hand down Madi’s hair and smile at her. “The girl was the first one to step on the ground, and the others followed behind. Her brother followed her down because he wanted to protect her. And, at first, he and the others thought they were alone, but it turns out that they weren't.”

“The monsters,” Madi mumbles, excitement sparking in her eyes.

Bellamy smirks and nods. “There were monsters, yes. Some tried to get them to leave, others tried to steal them and take their bones, and one even stole their minds. But the girl was the first to realize that the monsters they first met weren't that different from them. She fell in love with one, _Linkon kom Trikru,_ and she started telling the others that the first monsters weren't all monsters at all. Her brother and many of the others didn't approve at first, but Lincoln was a good man, and he loved her so much.”

“They were the first to bridge the gap between the Sky People and the Grounders,” Clarke murmurs, looking over at Bellamy with a small smile. He blinks hard and releases a slow breath. “But, when the parents came down from the castle in Space, they didn't understand the new ways.”

“They made things worse,” Madi says with a frown. It's the first time she's made a comment like that, and she looks between them cautiously. “Didn't they?”

Bellamy clears his throat. “Yeah, they did. They didn't mean to, but they did. The bad kids learned quickly that they weren't really kids anymore, and many of them tried to do the right thing, to be the good guys. Including the girl. But, for some time, her brother wasn't being a good guy at all, and bad things happened because of it.”

“Bad things happened because of everyone,” Clarke corrects a little sharply. “It was hard for all of them, but the one hundred were just trying to survive, just like everyone was. The girl, too. She was training to become a warrior like Lincoln, and she became very good with time. When the time came, after Lincoln was gone and everyone was controlled by the monster that stole their minds, the girl rose up from the ashes as a hero, joining everyone together.”

“She became the girl under the floor again, but this time, she wasn't hiding. She was uniting the people and living without fear,” Bellamy tells Madi, his lips curling up. “Or, that's what her brother hopes, anyway. After _Praimfaya,_ the girl and her brother and some of her friends all got separated. Her brother misses her every day, but he knows he'll one day see her again, and in the meantime, he lives a happy life with the two most badass girls in the world.”

“Me and Clarke,” Madi announces, turning to look at Clarke with a broad smile. She's missing a tooth.

“The Princess,” Bellamy says, nodding to Clarke, then winks at Madi and playfully continues, “and our little _natblida.”_

Madi has an imagination to rival many, and like usual, she starts chattering about what she thinks Octavia is doing now—heroic things, probably, in her mind. Bellamy adds little quips every now and again, and Clarke pitches in with a few hopeful ideas of her own. The subject is light and uplifting, so much more than the retelling of their pasts.

Clarke had been hesitant at first to tell Madi the stories. Most of them aren't pretty, and she's just a child. But, as Bellamy pointed out, she's not a normal child, and she's been through horrible things herself. In the long run, it would be remiss of them to keep her sheltered from the truth of their past.

They do soften it a bit, though. There are certain things she doesn't quite understand—technology, motives, war. They tell her what they can, and they're honest, but it's almost like a fairytale now. They never paint her own people in a bad light, nor do they glorify themselves and their friends. They want to get it right, for her to grow up _knowing_ the truth, because Clarke doesn't think they'd be able to handle the disappointment she'd feel if she found out later.

She remembers the sharp slap of reality she had to go through to learn the true nature of the adults on the Ark. Worse than that, she still feels a sting to know that her mom got her dad floated. She never wants Madi to go through something like that, to have to believe lies that may one day get stripped from her ruthlessly, the truth changing her.

In some ways, Clarke gets the adults now, the way she didn't long ago. It wasn't until she became a leader and was put in a position to make decisions for her people that she could fully understand what they went through and why they did the things they did. Will she ever fully forgive some of the things they did? No. But now, after making some of the choices that she's had to, she gets it. Bellamy is the same way, though he still holds a harsher grudge for some, and he should. Their lives weren't the same before coming down to the ground, and some of his struggles on the Ark far outweigh hers. She doesn't begrudge him his anger, though she encourages him to make peace with it as she has. He seems like he has.

“I'm going to climb it,” Madi announces out of nowhere, running up to a tree with a low-hanging branch and dumping her pack to the ground.

A part of Clarke wants to protest, and Bellamy opens his mouth like he's about to, but they stop themselves before it breaks free. They've talked about this, too, about giving Madi the freedom to do things that may not be in her best interest. Before she came to live with them, she did everything on her own, and she made these decisions by herself. As much as they want to shelter her from the mere possibility of getting hurt, they know they have to trust her to care about her own safety the way she trusts herself.

That doesn't mean they won't give worried tips, regardless, because they are only human and very worried nonetheless.

“Don't go too high,” Clarke calls out, threading her fingers together and putting them against her mouth as Madi swings up onto the branch.

Bellamy shuffles in place. “If you're not sure a branch is strong enough to hold you, don't climb up!”

“I know,” Madi calls back down distractedly.

“She has no idea the amount of stress we're under right now,” Clarke mutters to Bellamy, never taking her eyes off Madi.

“She's fine.” Bellamy crosses his arms and stares with an intense gaze as Madi pauses on a branch. “We have to trust that she knows what she's doing.”

That's a pretty strange statement coming from him, but they've been working on it. He'd expressed that he didn't want to do the same thing to Madi that he had to Octavia, and Clarke had agreed that they wouldn't smother her. As badly as they want to protect her, they know they have to let her learn to protect herself. Within reason, of course, and it's not like they're not in the background, ready to do whatever they need to for her at a moment's notice.

Clarke is often reminded that Madi is only seven-ish, and it baffles her. When she was seven, she was not nearly as self-sufficient and mature as Madi is. Then again, she was living on the Ark with well-off parents who were in good with the Chancellor. She wonders, vaguely, how mature Bellamy was at seven.

Clarke wants to know bad enough that she asks him. “When you were her age, were you as mature as her? I mean, yes, she is a child, but not anything like I was growing up. What about you?”

“Well,” Bellamy murmurs, “I guess I was more mature than most. I was a pretty serious kid up until I became a teenager and realized how weird that was. But I was taking care of Octavia, and I spent most of my time scared that she'd be taken away. So, I guess you could say I was like Madi, but not nearly as mature as she is.”

“I was a happy child,” Clarke murmurs, watching with a small smile as Madi sits down on a branch and swings her legs. She waves down at them, and Clarke waves back. “Until my father died, life was good. I always listened to my parents, and I was never mean to any of the other kids, and I was just...happy. I think this is the first time I've been happy like that since my dad was floated.”

“We were poor,” Bellamy says bluntly. “I was used to it, you know, but there were times when it was harder for us than the others in our station. I'd give Octavia my meals sometimes when Mom couldn't feed us both. She got sick once, so she couldn't, um—” He stops and swallows, clearing his throat. “Anyway, I had to figure something out, so I offered to write four different kid's essays for class. That was how I got into History, actually. It had to be four different topics, plus mine, so I didn't sleep for two days to study up and make sure it was right.” His voice softens and turns amused. “I was so damn _proud_ that I kept us fed and helped Mom by doing that.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, her throat sticking. For the first time, she rips her gaze away from Madi to look at the side of his face. His lips are curled up in a small, sad smile. Her heart twinges in her chest. “Bellamy, I'm—”

“Don't,” Bellamy cuts her off, turning his face slightly towards her but not fully, his gaze swiveling around to look at her out of the corner of his eyes. “That was a long time ago, Clarke, and it wasn't your fault. Don't feel sorry for me, either. Objectively, that was an easier time, and you were there for the hardest times, so there's nothing for you to apologize for.”

Clarke sighs. “Still, I wish your life was better back then. I wish—well, I wish a lot of things, really.”

“I read about a philosopher named Plato.” Bellamy uncrosses his arms and exhales slowly. “I was kind of obsessed with the guy, actually. Some of the things he said seemed so _wise._ I remember telling Octavia something a lot, and I'm going to tell you the same quote now because it's true.” He smiles at her so wide that crinkles form around his eyes, and Clarke _aches_ to draw him in that moment. “He said: _There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help, and what they cannot._ And you know what? He was right. We can't help the past, but we can embrace the good we have now.”

Clarke pictures a younger Bellamy telling a much smaller, more innocent Octavia that quote every time she had to shove herself under the floor in the Ark. He's right, they can't help the past, but that doesn't mean she can't feel sadness for him. She wonders if he ever told that quote to Octavia after they reached the ground, after Lincoln's death…

Probably not.

“Plato sounds like a smart guy,” Clarke says softly, looking away from Bellamy to check on Madi. She's climbing down now, slowly but surely.

Bellamy chuckles. “I think he was.”

“Well, _I_ think it takes a smart man to come up with those sayings, but an even smarter man to know the importance of them.” Clarke looks over at him, watching him blink rapidly in surprise, and she smiles at him. Before walking over to Madi, she squeezes his arm and simply says, “Thank you.”

Faintly, from behind her, Bellamy murmurs, “No problem.”

* * *

Clarke bursts from the water with a gasped-out laugh, sliding her hands over her face and blinking the water from her eyes. Bellamy chuckles throatily and wades a little closer, shushing her and putting his finger to his lips. Smothering laughter behind her hand, she glances over in sync with him to the tent, checking on a sleeping Madi to make sure she hasn't stirred.

When they hear her faint snores, they share a grin.

They're about a week out from leaving the Village and are planning to start heading back in the morning, which Madi seems equally bummed about and ready for all at once. She enjoys being out and about, getting into things, living off the land like she used to before them, but she is openly grateful about having a home to return to. She's been flipping between whining about the decision to head home and asking what lessons they'll start her on when they all make it back.

As much as Clarke loves Madi, and it's a lot, she's also enjoying the peace and quiet while she's asleep. Bellamy seems to be on the same page. It was his idea to stay up after she went to sleep and make good use of the lake they're camping by. The way they're sneaking and staying quiet is somehow exhilarating, ridiculous, and hilarious all at once.

If Madi wakes up, she's going to want to swim, too. But hell, they're just enjoying some kid-free time, and Clarke refuses to feel guilty about that.

“Your hair is getting long again,” Bellamy whispers, moving a little closer to reach out and rub the slick, wet strands between his fingers. “Are you going to let it grow out, or do you want me to cut it again?”

Clarke considers that, then makes a scissoring motion with her fingers. “It feels lighter with it short. When we get back, will you do it? You can get it even with the knife where I can't.”

“Yeah, I got you,” Bellamy says easily.

“And you,” Clarke murmurs, pointing at his face with her eyebrows raised. “You need a shave.”

Bellamy reaches up to stroke his facial hair that's more patchy than anything. He waggles his eyebrows at her. “What, you don't like it? I kind of do.”

“It's fine,” Clarke tells him, tilting her head. “Just new. It doesn't look _bad,_ it just hasn't grown in enough yet. With some more time, it'll look better.”

“Makes me look manly, don't you think?”

“Bellamy, I don't really think you need help in that department.”

“Oh, really?” Bellamy's eyebrows jump up and he picks one arm out of the water to flex it, the slight splash making Clarke hiss out a small laugh and smack his arm back down to the water. He grins at her and pokes her bare stomach under the water, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I didn't realize my masculinity was so obvious, Clarke. Here I was, worried I wasn't macho enough, and here you are, soothing all my little insecurities.”

“Oh my god, _shut up,”_ Clarke mutters, nearly wheezing as she shoves his poking hands away from her sides. “If you wake up Madi for a stupid joke, I will drown you, I'm warning you now.”

Bellamy smirks at her, then takes a deep breath, holding it as he blows his cheeks out. With that, he suddenly sinks under the surface of the water, and Clarke peers down to try and see him beneath the ripples. It's night, so she can't see much below the water. Only the reflection of the moonlight lets her see above it, but anything else is off limits. That's why she doesn't know he swims closer to her until she feels his finger wrap firmly around her ankle and _yank._

She barely swallows the yelp crawling up her throat in time, but even in the midst of her surprise, she's very aware of Madi sleeping just a little bit away. She goes down silently, her foot yanked out from under her, sending her sprawling. They're in shallow water, so she ends up hitting the bottom fairly quickly, and for a moment, she wishes she could breathe here.

There's a peaceful quality to the water. She feels weightless and unburdened, and she doesn't really want to come up. Her hair feels so soft around her face, the water is cool but not cold, and she feels a sense of freedom below the water—like all her sins from the ground can't reach her here.

Still, her lungs do not agree with that, and she eventually pushes up from the bottom to break the surface with a deep breath. When she swipes the water from her eyes, Bellamy is blatantly laughing at her as quietly as he can manage.

“Aw, come on, that was funny,” he says.

Clarke moves closer so she can flick water into his face with a satisfied smirk as he flinches and wipes it away with a deadpan look. “No, _that_ was funny. Now, stop it before you wake Madi up.”

“Good, sensible Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy teases, making a face at her. “Never one for fun, never one for exciting risks.”

“Bellamy Blake, Mr. Do Whatever The Hell We Want himself,” Clarke retorts, arching an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, you should know by now that I know you better than that.”

Bellamy clicks his tongue and eases forward slowly, pursing his lips for a moment. “You know what your problem is, Clarke?”

“I have plenty, but do go on. We'll be here all night if you plan to list them all. Knock yourself out.”

“Your _problem_ is that you never break small, harmless rules. That's the problem. We're _supposed_ to be quiet, or Madi will wake up.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at him as he edges closer. “Yes, that's what we're avoiding. What's your point?”

“Okay, but say we didn't?” Bellamy raises his eyebrows, wearing an overly innocent expression, shrugging slightly. “What if you weren't quiet?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says warningly, but it's too late.

Before she can say much else, he's lunging forward to catch her around the waist, lugging her out of the water and falling backwards with her. This time, she can't help but squeal, her arms pinwheeling as they go over. The splash is loud when they sink beneath the water, and the last thing she hears before they go under is Bellamy's booming laughter.

He lets her go after a few seconds under the water, and they both push to the surface, their gazes turning to the tent with caution. Madi is no longer snoring, but she also hasn't moved, so she must have stayed asleep. Clarke can't help it, she chuckles softly, and Bellamy starts laughing with her. It's soft and quiet, but it's real, and she splashes him in the face again.

“See that?” Bellamy points to her face, looking endlessly fond as he gazes at her. “That's the smile of a girl who's just gotten away with something _fun.”_

“You're a _terrible_ influence,” Clarke decides, shaking her head at him.

Bellamy snorts. “Tell me something I don't know, Princess. Now, I'm going to go get dry. My skin is starting to do that weird, wrinkly thing I don't like.”

Clarke pulls her hand out of the water, looking at the softened pads of her fingers. “Yeah, so is mine. I'm right behind you.”

A few moments later, they're dripping a few feet away from the tent, wringing out their underclothes in silence, little rivers sliding down their bodies as they scrunch the cloth as much as possible. The air is warm, but Clarke still gets goosebumps in the fresh air, water clinging to her skin. She glances over at Bellamy as she squeezes her hair.

In the moonlight, his skin shimmers with droplets of water, like dew clinging to a flower. Her hands itch to wipe away the water, to dry it off so she doesn't have to look at it anymore. It's pretty, though, and she wishes she could remember this moment perfectly to draw it later, but she knows she won't get the details right. Swallowing and coughing, she rips her gaze away and snatches up the thick cloth they'll share to dry off their skin as much as possible.

It's no towel, but it gets the job done. She holds it out to him without looking, and when he takes it, she starts shoving herself back into her dry clothes. It's a chore and a half, but she doesn't regret taking a dip in the lake with Bellamy. It had been fun, all things considered, and she feels soft and ready to sleep before the trek back in the morning.

“I'm going to dry off a bit more, but I'll be in right behind you,” Bellamy tells her when she pauses at the tent-flap to glance at him.

Clarke nods and ducks inside, quietly easing down in the open spot on Madi’s right. Bellamy will sleep on her left, just like he always does when they go camping. It's become something of a routine at this point, so she just closes her eyes and folds herself up behind Madi, cradling her smaller body with her own.

Just as she's settling, her breathing evening out, Madi suddenly whispers, “Did you have fun swimming with Bellamy?”

Clarke's eyes snap open, flicking down to see that Madi is looking up at her. She smiles slightly, amused, and rubs a hand over Madi’s hair. “Did we wake you up, little _natblida?”_

“Yes,” Madi tells her bluntly. “I heard it when you both got in.”

“You didn't want to go swimming?” Clarke asks slowly, slightly confused. Madi _loves_ swimming, and her missing the chance on purpose is odd.

Madi smiles at her. “I was just listening to you and Bellamy laugh.”

“Oh.” Clarke blinks rapidly, surprised but also...touched by that? She smiles slightly and dips down to kiss Madi on her forehead. “Get some sleep, Madi.”

“Goodnight, Clarke,” Madi whispers, settling back down and closing her eyes.

Clarke copies her, and she's asleep by the time Bellamy finally crawls in the tent.

* * *

Months pass.

Time seems sluggish and quick all at once. The day-to-day routine can get a little boring, but it's nice. Going from consistently on the move, constantly trying to ensure the survival of her people, to this easy life is...well, it's a little jarring, but it's amazing.

They break up their regular routine at least once a month, taking a week or two out to travel all over the Valley. But, usually, they're all at their Village. Bellamy and Madi hunt or fish every day, and Clarke finds things to do while they're gone. Making soaps, or gathering fruit, or finding more resources. Then, when Madi and Bellamy return, she starts lessons with Madi while Bellamy finds things to do. Building onto their porch, or washing their clothes, or managing the overgrown weeds and grass in the Village. Sometimes, to change things up, Clarke will do what Bellamy usually does, and Bellamy will take over the things she does. And, more often than not, they merge the things they're doing and just do it all together, which is either relaxing or annoying—there is no in between.

The days blur together to the point that she'll get surprised when she wakes up to add another tally to her journal and sees how many there are. Most times, she doesn't count them, not really caring to keep track. Every once in a while, though, her curiosity will get the best of her, and she'll be stunned to realize that months have passed since the last time she counted the tallies. The end of the second year approaches quickly, which is strange because she can remember the beginning of it just like yesterday.

The boredom is never overbearing because she has Bellamy and Madi. They keep things from ever being too mundane. They change with time, just as she's sure that she does.

Madi gets taller, gets even better at English, takes a deep interest in art and history, surpasses them both in fishing, and starts to look at their weapons with a curious glint in her eye that she never had before. Some things don't change with her, however. Octavia remains her favorite, and she still thinks Raven is the smartest, though she seems to have a soft spot for Monty lately. She also continues climbing trees, and she still looks at Bellamy—and Clarke, according to him—with that same childish love and adoration.

Bellamy gets more muscular, somehow, and he lets Madi teach him Trigedasleng. He gets creative with cooking, starts making bait and traps that actually work, and he's finished two books of history already. He's also let his facial hair grow in, which isn't actually that bad, and he figures out how to make proper arrows that will go with the bow he spent about two weeks making—now, he's got it in his mind that he has to master this weapon like he did a gun.

Clarke has finally stopped _wishing_ that she could draw Bellamy and started just _doing it._ She'll even tell him to be still when she wants the right angle, and he indulges her whims without comment. He'll look at the drawings after and either genuinely compliment her or tease her for getting his nose wrong, or both. She's pretty sure she has more drawings of him and Madi than anyone else at this point.

A good portion of her drawings go up on the walls in the house. There's faces of friends and family surrounding them in their home, and that feels right. When she misses them, she'll look to their drawings and smile, and she occasionally catches Bellamy doing the same. The only drawing that has its own frame—a wooden one Bellamy had made—is the family portrait that Madi had finally asked her to do, sounding shy and uncertain when she did.

Clarke wouldn't have dreamed of refusing her, so she spent nearly an entire afternoon getting it just right. She even made Madi stand beside Bellamy a few times to get the height right, then measured Madi next to her and herself next to Bellamy. Eventually, she was satisfied with it. In it, she stands on the right, Bellamy stands on the left, and Madi stands in front of them—one of their hands on each of her shoulders.

Things are easier than they've ever been, but that doesn't necessarily mean that things don't get rough sometimes. They have their bad days, their _really_ bad days, and sometimes nothing is easy.

Like today.

Bellamy had woken in a sour mood, which is never a good thing, but to make matters worse, Clarke is also having a shitty day. She's cramping from her menstrual, Madi had accidentally clipped her in the head with her elbow when she jumped on their bed to wake them up, giving her a headache, and now Bellamy is walking around with a glare and a growl for anything that moves. His mood brings down theirs, and Clarke is _barely_ hanging by a thread.

She knows he gets like this occasionally. She does, too. It's hard, sometimes, to wake up and realize that they can't get to the others, especially when that's what they want. He wants to see Octavia, she wants to see her mom, they both miss their friends. It's either that, or they're struggling with the weight of the things they've done and been through, because no matter how good things are _now,_ that's not something that will ever fully leave them. So, yes, she gets it.

But, today, it's pissing her off.

Needless to say, they end up fighting. She doesn't really know how. They start by sniping at each other, then that turns to them throwing pointless retorts far sharper than necessary, and that eventually escalates to them yelling at each other. It's the first time they've actually fought like this in...well, _years._

Sure, they've had their arguments, they regularly bicker, that's normal. This? This is something else entirely. So much so that Madi sits quietly at one of the outside tables with wide eyes, watching them in shock and despair, but they don't notice, too busy hurling shouts at each other.

The sad part is, Clarke's not even sure _what_ they're arguing about. If asked later, she won't remember the things they said to each other, just the pounding in her ears and the heat in her face. And she'll never forget the way Bellamy stalks around like a lion in a cage, or the sound of his raised voice.

In the end, Bellamy throws up his hands and loudly shouts, “Fuck this! I don't need this shit!”

“Fine, go!” Clarke screams after him, watching his retreating back with red tinting her vision. “Good fucking riddance!”

And, just like that, Bellamy throws himself into the Rover, cranks it up, and tears out of the Village without missing a beat. Clarke childishly throws a rock at the back of it, her chest heaving.

It takes her a few minutes to collect herself, but she does. She calms. She breathes. She pushes her hair away from her faces and closes her eyes. Then, when she exhales deeply, she mentally berates herself for her part in that pointless screaming match. She's not entirely at fault, she knows that, but she also knows she's no innocent party either.

Clearing her throat, she tucks her hair behind her ears, straightens her shoulders, and turns around. It's at this particular moment that she realizes that Madi had heard absolutely every word of that and just witnessed it all in real time, and she feels a wave of guilt hit her so hard that she sways a little. Madi is still sitting at that table, her tiny hands clenched in her lap, and she has tears in her eyes that she won't let fall. Her fucking lip _wobbles,_ and oh god, Clarke is the worst person in the entire world.

“Madi,” Clarke says softly. She instantly wishes she hadn't spoken because Madi abruptly bursts into tears, and she is not prepared for this. Cursing under her breath, she runs over and slides onto the bench beside her so fast that she probably gets a splinter, and she draws Madi into a hug. “Hey, hey, don't cry. God, Madi, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“He's _gone,”_ Madi chokes out, her breath stuttering out of her as she pulls away to look up at Clarke with wide, watery eyes. Almost frantically, Clarke tries to swipe the tears away, but more tears replace them. “I didn't—he j-just _left.”_

Clarke swallows thickly. “I know, I'm sorry. He'll come back, I _promise_ he will, okay? He just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”

“Is he mad at me?” Madi whispers, horrified.

“No, Madi, he's not. I swear he's not,” Clarke assures her fiercely. “No one is mad at you, okay?”

Madi frowns at her, sniffling wetly. “He's mad at you? Does he want to be away from you now?”

It hits Clarke all over again how young Madi truly is, maturity notwithstanding. “Okay, listen to me. Bellamy is having a really, _really_ bad day today. He's hurting on the inside, so it made him mad. He didn't mean to take it out on me, but sometimes that's what happens when you're hurting that badly. Do you remember that time you kicked the tree because you scraped your hand on it?”

“Yes…” Madi says slowly, visibly confused.

“Does that mean you hate trees and never want to see them again?”

“No.”

“Exactly,” Clarke says softly. “Bellamy was just hurting, and he doesn't hate me _or_ you. He will come back, I promise.”

Madi sniffles again, her breath doing that _huffufuf_ thing that all kids do when they're trying hard to stop crying. “Why is Bellamy hurting?”

“Well…” Clarke pauses, trying to figure out a way to explain it. Turns out, that's not something that comes with a simple metaphor. Thankfully, the sound of the Rover steals her attention. “Hey, look who's back. I told you.”

“He didn't even go far,” Madi mumbles, frowning as she looks over at the sound of the Rover.

Clarke nods. “I know. He probably feels really bad. And Madi, I'm sorry that you had to see that. It was wrong, and I promise we'll do our best to never do that again, okay?” When Madi nods at her, Clarke hugs her again quickly, dropping a kiss off on her head before easing her back. “Do me a favor and let me talk to Bellamy alone.”

“But—”

“Madi, go in the house. He'll come inside as soon as we're finished talking.”

Huffing a little, Madi pulls away and scoots off the bench. She hesitates for a moment indecisively, then abruptly turns back to give Clarke another hug. Before Clarke can so much as hug her back, she rips away and stomps into the house, slamming the door.

Clarke's eyed sink shut and she puts her head into her hands, sagging slightly for a moment. She never, _ever_ wants to do that again because it was, hands down, the single most stressful moment of her life, which is saying something. She has to take a moment to give herself some credit for handling it, then she picks up her head in time to see the Rover slowly come back into view. After a long moment, the door opens and Bellamy drops down, shutting it after him.

His face is full of regret as he approaches, shoulders slumped, crumbled eyebrows, apologetic eyes, the whole shebang. He even has his hands stuffed into his pockets, a sure sign that he's feeling like a huge asshole at the moment. She'd be inclined to agree if not for the fact that he maybe got three minutes of driving away before he turned right back around, or if she wasn't also an asshole in this scenario.

It's a mistake on both of their parts, she knows that for sure, so he's already forgiven.

Still, the first thing he says is, “I'm sorry.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs, sighing.

“No,” Bellamy cuts her off, grimacing, “I should have never yelled at you like that, and I just—I don't even really know what happened. As soon as I left, I knew I fucked up and came right back. I'm _sorry,_ Clarke.”

“So am I,” Clarke says simply, tilting her chin up and waving him over. He carefully moves over and hesitantly sinks into the open spot beside her, the one Madi just vacated, and she leans into him. “You're having a bad day, I'm not feeling well, and we only have each other to take it out on. It was bound to happen eventually, and honestly, I'm surprised it has taken this long for us to explode.”

“You're not feeling well?” Bellamy asks, pulling back slightly to frown at her.

Clarke waves him off. “Headache, menstrual cramps. I'm fine, don't worry about that.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy says again, pitifully.

“It's okay.” Immediately after those words leave her lips, she shakes her head. “No, it's _not_ okay. That can't happen again, Bellamy.”

Bellamy sighs. “I know, I'm—”

“If it was just us, sure, maybe. But it's not. Madi was really upset when you left,” Clarke tells him.

“Shit, Madi!” Bellamy is half out of the seat, his eyes bulging, when Clarke snatches him back down.

Clarke holds his gaze seriously. “Not yet. Listen to me first, okay? If not for her, I'd probably handle this entirely differently, but you didn't see her. She cried, Bellamy, and she thought you weren't coming back. She was worried you were mad at her, then worried you were mad at just me and didn't want to be around me anymore.” When his face twists in regret and guilt, she squeezes the arm she's holding. “I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, I'm telling you so we know how important it is not to fight in front of her like that again. If—if we need space, that's fine, but we do it in a better way. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bellamy croaks. He groans and drags a hand over his face. _“Fuck,_ I feel like the worst person in the world right now.”

“Yeah, so do I, to be fair,” Clarke tells him with a sigh. She shrugs when he looks at her incredulously. “You weren't the only one yelling, you know. This is on us both. Who knew parenting was so hard?”

“I thought I did, but this is just…” Bellamy blows out an explosive breath and laughs a little deliriously, shaking his head. “Clarke, this is so, _so_ different.”

Clarke eyes him cautiously. “Different from raising Octavia, you mean?”

“I didn't raise her alone, and I never treated her like this. She was always my little sister, not my _child,”_ Bellamy mutters, blinking slowly. “It's different, somehow, even if it's similar.”

“Well, I guess we're allowed some room for mistakes, right? I mean, our parents made plenty, and we turned out mostly okay.” Clarke pauses to consider what she just said, then snorts. “Well, sort of.”

Bellamy laughs a little, relaxing in increments, and looks over at her softly. After a beat, he eases his arm around her, drawing her into a hug. “I'm sorry,” he mumbles again, “and I promise to do better.”

“Me too,” Clarke says into his chest, her words muffled. She closes her eyes and holds him for a long moment, basking in the firm warmth of his body and the flutter of his heartbeat. When he slowly pulls away, she smiles at him. “Now, go grovel to our—to Madi, and I'll be in soon to join you.”

“You can say it, you know,” Bellamy murmurs, scanning her face. “If not to her, then to me. She is. She's our child, Clarke.”

Clarke swallows around the lump forming in her throat. “I know.”

Bellamy nods and leans across the space between them slowly. For a split second, her heart stutters in her chest and her breath catches and she has the most insane idea that's he's about to—

He presses his lips to her forehead, tender and soft, the contact lingering. Clarke releases all the tension in her body, eyes closing as she exhales slowly, and a sense of calm passes through her. It's sweet and wholesome, and her lips curl up in thanks. It's exactly what she needed. He pulls away after a long moment, then tosses her a crooked smile before pushing himself up and heading inside to Madi.

Clarke needs another moment.

* * *

“Hey, Raven. I'm really missing you today. Well, I'm missing everyone, but it would be nice to talk to you right about now. I can't believe me and Bellamy have almost made it two years without all of you. Well, no, I can believe that, but it just feels surreal sometimes. Maybe you'll figure something out one day and hear these messages, so I guess I'll keep making them. Whenever I'm still for too long, my mind always wanders to what everyone is doing right now. As for us, we're still doing the same thing we always do. Bellamy is out hunting with Madi now, and I wanted to check in with all of you. I hope you're all doing okay up there, and...we miss you.”

* * *

Madi gets sick, and Clarke _maybe_ overreacts a little bit, but to be fair, it scares her half to death.

The first sign is that Madi doesn't wake up before them. Clarke doesn't look too much into it because she'd heard Madi toss and turn throughout the night before. So had Bellamy. They just assume she needs the extra rest, so they don't bother her.

However, when a couple of hours have passed and she hasn't woken up, they get a little worried. Bellamy is waiting around for her to go hunting, and Clarke isn't getting much done because her worries increase over time, so they decide to check on her. Madi is still asleep, her face screwed up as if she's not sleeping _well,_ and they decide to give her some more time. They figure it might be nightmares because she has them just like they do, but she never talks about them.

After more time passes, early morning slipping into afternoon, they're about to come out of their skin with fretful energy. They're actually about to head inside and wake her up regardless of what she looks like while sleeping when the front door opens and she steps outside, sweaty and pale.

_“At’s hacken, nomon, nontu,”_ Madi says, then folds in half and vomits all over the porch.

In the split second between her words and her throwing up, they translate her words in their heads, and Clarke's heart clenches hard enough that she wheezes a little. _I'm sick, mom, dad,_ Madi had said, and it's the first time she addresses them that way.

Before they can even relish in that emotional development, she's sick all over the porch and her own bare feet. Clarke's out of her seat in a flash, and Bellamy is right beside her. Madi sways a little, spitting out weak apologies in Trigedasleng that goes ignored as Bellamy holds her up and Clarke slams open the door.

“Get her in our bed, don't lie her on her back,” Clarke orders sternly. She rushes over to the cabinet and forces herself to soften her words. “Madi, sweetheart, what feels bad?”

_“Ething,”_ Madi moans, apparently reverting to her first language while ill.

Clarke swallows thickly and pulls down the plants she's gathered that she knows for a fact helps with nausea and stomach cramps. “I understand everything feels bad, Madi, but what hurts?” she asks, turning around to see Bellamy smoothing the sweaty hair away from Madi’s forehead. “Is it your head? Throat? Stomach? Tell me what hurts.”

Madi slumps over into Bellamy miserably, lips tipped down as she stares at Clarke. _“Melon, got.”_

“Head, stomach, got it.” Clarke looks over at Bellamy with a frown. “Bring me some cloth to clean her up. Wait, does she have a fever?”

Bellamy feels her head with the back of his hand, then frowns, reaching down to pull up her shirt and feel her stomach. His frown deepens. “Yeah, definitely a fever. Should I also cool off some cloth in water and bring that, too?”

“Yes, please,” Clarke says, nodding. “Also, put some water on to boil.”

“Alright, shout if you need me,” Bellamy murmurs, pausing to kiss Madi’s forehead before rushing off to go get what they need.

_“Ai liak laksen,”_ Madi mumbles.

_I am hurt._ Clark takes a deep breath and smiles as gently as she can. _“Yu na ge beda._ Okay, Madi? You will get better, I promise.”

_“Yumi na fis op?”_

“I will heal you, yes. As soon as Bellamy gets back, we're going to clean you up, then you're going to drink something that will make your stomach feel better. Are you sleepy?”

_“At’s bitam noden,”_ Madi whispers, nodding.

Clarke takes a deep breath. “That's okay, that's perfectly fine. You can sleep as soon as you've had your drink, okay?”

Madi nods. _“Yu en Bellomi kamp raun?”_

“We'll be here the whole time,” Bellamy announces, answering her as he walks inside. He smiles at her before passing Clarke both cloths, the dry one and the cool one. “The water is just heating up now. Could be a few minutes until it boils.”

Clarke nods and lays the cool cloth aside as she kneels down, cleaning the sick from Madi’s feet. “Get her out of all her extra layers, Bellamy, and tie her hair away from her face.”

Bellamy does as he's asked, quietly speaking to Madi in Trigedasleng, because she's just delirious enough to struggle with English right now, even if she understands it perfectly fine. Clarke doesn't blame her. Wasting energy on remembering words in English isn't worth it right now, so whatever makes her comfortable is what they'll do.

Clarke finishes cleaning her and discards the cloth in the makeshift bin where they put the clothes they want washed—Bellamy had made it for them. It's a joint effort between him and her to get Madi stripped down to one shirt and her underwear that just looks like shorts. After that, Clarke stacks as many pillows as she can so Madi will be raised up, and she pulls the cover over her. The cool cloth gets folded and lays over her forehead, which makes Madi hum in approval. Bellamy leaves to check on the water, comes back with an empty wooden bucket in case Madi gets sick again, then sits down to wait.

Madi drifts in and out of sleep, mumbling words under her breath, still looking like she's in pain. She looks more comfortable, at least. Bellamy has pulled her sweaty hair from her face, and she doesn't look as hot in all her clothes, so there's that. Still, Clarke's heart is racing in her chest, and Bellamy looks as concerned as she feels right now.

“The water should be ready,” Bellamy mumbles at some point later, and Clarke nods.

She stands up. “I'll get it. Wake her up so she can drink this.”

She takes the little bowls they eat and drink out of outside to get a good serving of the water. It's at a steady boil now, so she scoops some out and sits it on the table. She rips the plant she brought with her and lets it fall into the water, watching it turn a pale blue from the hot water drawing out its properties.

She does this almost every month when she's on her menstrual, and it works wonders for nausea and cramps. They'll have to keep Madi’s fever down on their own, and there's not much they can do about the headache, but she's sure it will ease when Madi starts feeling better, which she _will._

Clarke's not sure why she's so worried. Kids get sick. It's normal. Honestly, Madi’s incredibly lucky that she's getting sick with them because they know what to do. And yet, Clarke feels like there's a stone in her stomach, and her heart is pounding too hard. Her anxiety is rising with the thoughts of what could go wrong because something _always_ goes wrong.

If—if…

No, Clarke's not even going to think about what could happen. But, if something _does,_ she knows she won't survive it. Bellamy won't either.

She's thankful when the drink has cooled enough that it won't scald Madi’s tongue. It's still warm, which will be soothing as well. Clarke carries it carefully inside and slaps on a smile to see Madi leaning her head on Bellamy's shoulder, little mouth splitting around a yawn. She looks exhausted and she has an arm wrapped around her stomach, which is a clear sign of that being the main problem.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, gently nudging Madi’s head with his shoulder, “look who's back. Clarke has your medicine. You need to drink all of it, okay? It'll make you feel a lot better.”

_“Muchof,”_ Madi whispers, almost polite, and it draws a smile out of Bellamy and Clarke.

Clarke passes over the bowl. _“Drein daun.”_

Madi drinks. Clarke has to give it to her. It's not the best tasting thing out there, though they've certainly had worse, but Madi swallows it all down. After, she passes the bowl back to Clarke and sinks back against the pillows, her eyes instantly fluttering closed.

_“Ai hod yu in,”_ Madi mumbles, then falls asleep, her breathing evening out immediately.

“We love you, too,” Clarke chokes out, gripping the bowl in her hands so tightly that her fingers ache.

Bellamy slowly eases to his feet and walks over, peeling the bowl from her hands and carelessly sitting it on Madi’s bed. He pulls her towards the door, and when she starts to protest, he shakes his head firmly. She snaps her mouth shut and lets him pull her on the porch, the door still open so they can listen. Clarke looks down at the spot Madi was sick, realizing for the first time that Bellamy cleaned it up at some point during all of this.

“She will be fine,” Bellamy says softly, putting his hands on her shoulders and holding her gaze. “You did good, Clarke, it's okay.”

“She called us mom and dad,” Clarke says hoarsely, blinking at him, dazed.

Bellamy nods. “I know. She also told us that she loves us. She's a kid, Clarke, and she doesn't feel good. They get sweet and fussy, and they say things like that because it makes them feel _better._ She's not saying things like that because she thinks she'll never get the chance to say it later.”

And that's it, isn't it? That's the crux of Clarke's concern, the reason that she's barely keeping from breaking down, even though she feels so stupid for it. She knows, logically, that Madi is going to be okay. But, instinctively, she knows that things like that are said by people who think they'll never get to say them again, and she wonders if she's always going to be trapped in this setting, in this broken belief that things are always going to go wrong.

It's stupid, but she can't help the way tears flood her eyes, and Bellamy sighs. He draws her into a hug, and that's about all she can take. Without much prompting, she starts crying for the first time in a very long time, and it somehow hurts and feels good at the same time. It's the rough kind of crying that sounds horrible against Bellamy's chest, the kind that makes her face hot and her throat close up and will most definitely leave snot on his shirt. He doesn't seem to mind at all, simply rubbing circles in her back.

In a weird way, it's actually really nice.

She cries for longer than necessary, longer than she usually grants herself, and Bellamy holds her through it. When it dries up, though, she's a little mortified and she ducks her head to scrub her face. She tries to wipe away the evidence of it, but one look at Bellamy's face when she glances up tells her that she doesn't succeed in that endeavor.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“Don't apologize. I get it, trust me,” Bellamy replies easily, stroking her arm.

Clarke clears her throat and takes a deep breath, pushing her hair out of her face. “You're right, Madi will be fine. I'm just…”

“Being a mom?” Bellamy teases.

“Yeah,” Clarke says with a choked-off laugh, “that.”

Bellamy smiles at her and throws his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, we have a child to stare at all night and absolutely no sleep to get.”

“Sounds about right,” Clarke mumbles, letting him pull her into the house.

They situate themselves on either side of the bed, watching Madi. Through the night, they give her more of that drink, change out the cold cloth for another one, and soothe her through two more bouts of vomiting. They do it all over again the next night, exhausted but determined nonetheless, speaking mostly in Trigedasleng for Madi’s benefit. And, by the third morning, she's feeling much better.

Bellamy, ever the trooper, takes her out on a very quick fishing trip at her insistence, and Clarke takes a very, _very_ long nap. She doesn't wake up until Bellamy is falling into bed.

He says, “I'm tagging out. Your turn.”

Clarke smiles and gets up.

* * *

“Hey, Raven, it's Madi. Clarke and Bellamy don't know that I have the radio. They're outside, trying to figure out how to make something called dessert? I know we haven't met, but I hear Clarke talking to you all the time, and her and Bellamy have told me a lot about everyone. I just wanted to say hi. I don't _think_ they'll be mad at me talking to you, but they decided today was my birthday, and they said I could have whatever I wanted, so…”

Clarke bites her lip and shares a look with Bellamy as they listen to Madi trail off awkwardly. They're standing at the door, eavesdropping on what might be the cutest thing that they've ever heard. Madi sounds starstruck as she speaks into the radio.

“Clarke says that there's a chance that you might hear the messages someday. If you do, I just want a few things from you, please. I want Murphy to tell me a joke because Clarke says he's funny, even if Bellamy gets that _tripi_ look on his face that means he thinks so too but doesn't want to _kon klin._ Sorry, Clarke is still teaching me English, so I don't know all the words. And I want Echo to teach me to fight because Clarke and Bellamy said that you're an _Azgeda plangona,_ but don't tell them that I want that because I don't think they'll like that very much.”

Bellamy looks as alarmed as Clarke feels, but they also have a short conversation with their expressions. It would make sense that Madi would want to learn to fight, especially as a Grounder child, and even more especially as _their_ child. Growing up on the stories she has and also idolizing Octavia has probably encouraged that desire to flourish. It really isn't the time for it, but they shouldn't count it out.

“Raven, there is something I want more than all of that. Out of all, I want one thing the most. Please find a way to come back. I think it will make Clarke and Bellamy really happy if you did. They get _rek_ sometimes—ah, very sad, I mean. They don't mean for me to see, but I do. They miss you a lot, so I hope you come back as soon as you can. Goodbye _Skaikru_ and happy birthday.”

Clarke releases a slow breath and blinks back the tears in her eyes. Madi’s endearing request is simultaneously so sweet and so heartwrenching. She hasn't quite grasped the birthday thing yet, so she's saying it to them—and others, apparently—despite them trying to explain that people are supposed to say it to her. But they also told her it was tradition to wish for things on your birthday, and the fact that she went to the radio to wish for this…

Bellamy reaches out and grabs her hand, and she looks over at him, a thousand emotions and things to say between them. Madi is so special, and they're so lucky, and sometimes it overwhelms them.

Right now, they're drowning it.

Clarke isn't rushing to come up for air, and Bellamy doesn't seem to be either. He squeezes her hand, she pushes open the door, and they step inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. If you enjoyed this chapter, lemme know what you liked! I love each and every comment. ❤
> 
> See you all next Friday!


	4. Year Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo, we're back again. I just want to thank all of you for the wonderful and kind feedback I've gotten so far. I seriously adore and appreciate every single one of you ❤
> 
> As per usual, this fic is a little heavy, just like the show, but it has some seriously soft moments as well. This chapter, in particular, has one ironic moment that's a little heavy. Let me know if you catch it. However, as far as warnings go, there's only a few things I think would need to be pointed out: 
> 
> 1) Madi talks about her nightmare/trauma, juuuust a bit. 
> 
> And 2) Bellamy and Clarke train together, so there's some bumps and blood, but it's not like an actual FIGHT, but more of a demonstration for Madi...and something else (*coughs* you'll see) 
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy ;)

Bellamy doesn't even realize they're into the third year until he overhears Clarke mentioning it to Raven in passing. The information makes him pause, and he takes a moment to process it. 

How have they already made it two full years past the death wave? _How?_ No, seriously, how the _hell_ did they make it here, to such a good place, such a good life? 

There are times that he opens his eyes in the morning and expects to be somewhere else, on the dropship, Mount Weather, in cells. It's not that he's waking up in those places, just that sometimes he still feels like he exists in those moments. He still thinks he'll blink and he'll open his eyes to have the barrel of his gun pressed to some Grounder’s head while he mercilessly pulls the trigger. He'll take a breath in the morning and expect to hear Jasper laughing at the thought of death, or feel the sand beneath him as he and Clarke lay down and wait to die.

Sometimes, Bellamy thinks that there are certain things that you can't exist outside of, that there are moments that freeze in place. The person you are in that moment becomes an entity of its own, existing despite how much time passes and how much change you go through, and at a moment's notice, you can be slammed back into that moment all over again. It doesn't lose its vibrancy, and you're back there, breathing that air and feeling those feelings, and there's nothing you can ever do to fix it. 

Because that moment has passed, and it just stays with you forever now. 

There are other times when Bellamy looks at Clarke or Madi, and he thinks those moments seem farther away. He'll open his eyes and hear Madi giggling in her bed as she attempts to draw, or he'll feel Clarke pressed up against him where she unconsciously rolled over to him in the night, and he'll realize that those moments have passed. He can't change them, or get rid of the memory of them, so he doesn't try to. He just feels it, remembers, grieves, and then he reminds himself that he's here, now, with Clarke and Madi, and he continues to breathe. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Clarke asks him, pulling the radio away from her mouth to frown at him. 

Bellamy clears his throat and walks over, holding his hand out. “Can I talk to Raven?” 

“Sure.” 

“Alone?” 

“Sure…” Clarke says again, this time carefully and with narrowed eyes. She does hand him the radio and push away from the table, shooting him a curious look as she heads over to Madi. 

Bellamy watches them for a moment. Madi is trying to braid her hair, but she's struggling. Clarke takes over with ease, nimble fingers quickly crossing the strands while Madi readily drops her arms with a relieved sigh. Clarke smiles slightly. 

“Raven,” he says into the radio, “I know I don't often talk to you alone, but I guess it can sometimes feel pointless. Clarke says there's always the smallest chance that maybe you'll reply one day, and I really want to believe that.” He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I was thinking about what we've all been through and what it must be like up there on that ring. And I just—I want to tell you something that I've learned down here on my own with Clarke and Madi and nothing else.” 

Bellamy takes a deep breath, watching Madi reach back to feel her braids, her face splitting with a beaming smile. Clarke is nodding to whatever she's saying, and seconds later, she reaches up to add little braids into her hair, too. Madi watches in rapt attention, excited, and his heart clenches in his chest. 

“Breathing gets easier when you have a reason to, Raven,” Bellamy whispers into the radio, swallowing thickly. “When you have people to breathe for, people who breathe with you, it eventually stops hurting. So, you hold onto them up there with you, and you don't let them go. You breathe with them and for them, and it gets a little easier each day. Whatever you do, just keep breathing, all of you.” 

* * *

The first time Bellamy catches Madi with a gun, his heart nearly stops in his chest and doesn't restart. 

In the past two years and three months, Bellamy hasn't had such a visceral reaction to a gun being in someone's hands. He's almost a little stunned by how familiar the fear feels, the way his breath catches, how sweat immediately slides down his back, instincts kicking in and telling him to get the gun away from her at any cost. It's also foreign in a way, because the fear he feels isn't because of her, it's _for_ her. 

She's never picked up a gun before today. She has her tried and true spear that she takes with them to go hunting, and Clarke had given her a dagger from the cache of weapons from the previous villagers in case of emergency. But, in all the time they've had her, she's never so much as held a gun, not to pass it to one of them, not to move it, nothing. 

He knows why. Grounders have a rule about guns, and so Madi’s natural instincts around them have always been understandable. Due to growing up under their care, she's not afraid of guns, doesn't flinch when they pick one up, doesn't duck when they pull the trigger—it's normal for her. 

This isn't. 

Bellamy is simply stuck for a moment, frozen mid-motion at the sight of a very obviously curious Madi holding his automatic rifle. Her tiny hands look pale wrapped around the black metal and worn grip, the buttstock pressed against her shoulder. His stomach cramps at the sight, and he's moving before he even realizes that he made the decision to. 

“Madi!” Bellamy barks, rushing up to her and roughly snatching the gun from her hands, his chest heaving. “Do _not_ touch that. Do you hear me? Never touch this again!” 

Madi rears back as if she's been slapped. “But—” 

_“No,”_ Bellamy cuts her off harshly. “No buts. If I _ever_ catch you holding a gun again, I'll—you're—” He falters, his mind going blank. He's never actually had to punish Madi before, and some distant voice in his mind whispers that he shouldn't be punishing her _now,_ but he ignores it and regroups. “Don't pick up a gun again, or you'll be in trouble.” 

“I wasn't going to shoot it,” Madi mumbles, her eyebrow furrowing, staring up at him in blatant disbelief. “I just wanted—” 

Bellamy slams the gun down on the table beside them, staring at her hard. “I don't care _what_ you were doing. Don't do it again.” 

_“Why?”_ Madi asks, baffled. “You and Clarke hold guns all the time. I didn't do anything wrong.” 

“Go inside,” Bellamy says shortly, pointing to the house. “Now.” 

“What about hunting?” Madi asks loudly, her eyes widening even further. 

Bellamy shakes his head. “You're not going with me today. Just—just go in the house. _Now,_ Madi.” 

Madi glares at him, her small nose snarling up in the corner. “Fine! I hope you don't catch _anything!”_

He ignores her shrill shout and raises his eyebrows, pointing more firmly towards the house. Madi whirls around and marches away, stomping up on the porch and shoving past Clarke when she steps outside. She slams the door, too, for good measure, and Clarke glances back in confusion. 

“What just happened?” Clarke asks slowly, easing down the steps with her eyebrows raised. 

Bellamy scowls. “What just happened is that child somehow inherited the force of both of our defiance, and we didn't actually _create_ her.” 

Clarke's eyebrows jump higher. “Okay… It's a little early for the rebellious teen years, Bellamy. What's going on?” 

“She was holding _this,”_ Bellamy hisses, reaching out to pick up the gun and wave it around a little dramatically, but he doesn't care how unhinged he looks at this particular moment. 

When Clarke doesn't so much as twitch at this development, he feels like his head is going to explode. She doesn't look upset or angry, and there's not even a flash of fear in her eyes. It's a little unsettling because it's rare for them not to be on the same page when it comes to Madi. Other things? Yes. Madi? No. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says softly. 

“No.” Bellamy shakes his head and slams the gun back down. “No, Clarke. Absolutely _not._ You're not going to tell me to calm down about this. Not about this. She is, what, eight now? Maybe nine? She's a _child._ We are not putting a gun in a child's hand and teaching her how to use it, we just aren't. I'm not—” 

Clarke steps forward and snatches up the gun, pointing it directly at his face, finger tight over the trigger. The move is so unexpected that he snaps his mouth shut and stares at her, not comprehending how he ended up here. She stares at him blankly, no emotion on her face. He's not afraid, just confused.

“Are you scared?” Clarke asks him quietly. 

Bellamy blinks. “No.” 

“Why?” 

“You won't shoot me.” 

Clarke arches an eyebrow. “But I know how to use a gun. I was a child when I first learned how.” 

“Don't do that,” Bellamy rasps. “Do not make this about us and—and what we went through.” 

_“I'm_ not. _You_ are.” Clarke lowers the gun, letting it lean against her side. Her eyes soften. “You once told me that guns could save us all, Bellamy, but they didn't. You also told me that guns would win the war, but they didn't. But, once, you told me that guns were practical, good for hunting, good for protection, and in _that,_ you were right. They aren't what they can do, they are how they're used.” 

Bellamy blinks hard, balling his hands up into fists, something splintering in his chest. “She's a child,” he says again, soft and broken. 

“Yes, she is,” Clarke agrees gently. “She's a child living on the last inhabitable patch of earth, and right now, her life is not in danger. Right now, we can provide for her and keep her safe. There may come a day when we can't because there's always that day. I, for one, don't want to leave her without the knowledge that she may need—that includes how to use a gun and knowing why and when to pull the trigger. I want her to be prepared. Do you?” 

“We've done terrible things with that knowledge, Clarke, both of us. Things we can't take back.” 

“She won't.” 

Bellamy releases a shaky breath. “You can't know that. You just can't.” 

Clarke steps forward, lowering her voice, holding his gaze. “Maybe not, but I can believe in her. I can tell her those things, let her learn from my mistakes, teach her the importance of what it means to hold a gun.” 

“How are we in peace and still making the same decisions we made while we weren't?” 

“Because there are some decisions that make themselves. We do right by her, Bellamy, we always have. Teaching her how to survive isn't wrong. It isn't easy, but it's not wrong. She is not me, she is not Octavia, and she is _not_ you. She will be better.” 

“Why?” Bellamy croaks. 

Clarke stares him in the eye. “Because she has _us.”_

Bellamy looks away, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to think about this. They've spent a good portion of their time not thinking about it, and he's more than happy to do that. He knows Clarke is right about one thing, however. He saw that gun in Madi’s hands and thought about the sound of the screams as he slaughtered innocents, thought about the bang of the gun as Clarke shot Dante Wallace, thought about Raven’s leg never getting better, thought about all the destruction and loss and war, and how it all comes with the regular background of gunfire. 

It takes a moment, but he realizes she's right about it all. It's not the gun itself, it's about what's done with them. They, unfortunately, didn't always do good things, but it's not fair to pin that on Madi. Especially when a gun could feed her or save her life one day, should she ever have to pick one up herself. 

“We start with the handgun,” Bellamy whispers, defeated. 

“Not today, not now.” Clarke puts the gun down and reaches out to squeeze his hand. “Like you said, she's a child, and we have some time before we have to worry about it.” 

Bellamy threads their fingers together, relief washing through him so intensely that his breath punches out of him when he nods. “Thank you.” 

“We can start teaching her to fight, though,” Clarke says cautiously. “You heard her last year on her birthday. She wants to learn. It will take more time than training her to use a gun.” 

“Okay,” Bellamy says, appeased. He nods and drops her hand, taking a deep breath. “So, we start with fighting. That, and we teach her how to use the bow. She already knows how to use her spear, but that's for hunting, so she'll need training with that, too.” 

Clarke stares at him with a frown. “I'm sorry, I have to ask. What's the difference between those weapons and a gun?” 

“You know what the difference is.” 

“You can kill someone with a spear, with a bow, even with your hands.” 

“Those weren't the weapons we held when we did the things we did,” Bellamy says simply. 

“So it is about us.” Clarke nods, like having it confirmed settles her somehow. She takes a deep breath and smiles tightly. “Who we are and what we do to survive are two very different things. A very good man told me that once. Please don't forget it.”

Bellamy looks at her sadly. “What that man didn't realize was that the things you do to survive changes who you are, and you can't come back from that.” 

“No, you can't,” Clarke agrees, “but you can move forward from it. You can do better next time, teach others to make the right choices that you failed to, and you can decide to do things that will leave you changed for the good.” 

“Maybe,” Bellamy allows. “I hope so.” 

“So do I.” Clarke glances over her shoulder to the house, her face softening. When she looks back, the sunlight makes her hair glow. “I have to. For her.” 

Bellamy sighs and flicks his gaze to the house, his lips tipping down. “I yelled at her, Clarke.” 

“I assumed you did. It's okay, you can move forward from that, too.” 

“How?” 

Clarke smiles. “Go tell her why.” 

* * *

The Rover jostling has his eyes snapping open as his head clips off the window. He grimaces and rubs his head, jaw cracking around a yawn as he blearily blinks around. Clarke shoots him an apologetic look from behind the wheel, and he snorts. 

“You're a terrible driver,” Bellamy mutters, glancing over the seat to see Madi still asleep in the back. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I can't help it that there was some debris in the road, okay?” 

“Are we almost there?” 

“We're close. Don't wake Madi yet.” 

Bellamy grunts, stretching his legs out and peering out the window. “Wasn't planning to.” 

They fall into comfortable silence, and Bellamy tries to ignore his nerves. He doesn't know why he's so anxious about this, about coming here.

Madi had brought it up, saying that she wanted to see what remains of Polis and visit the place that those in the bunker reside. They'd told her that she wouldn't see much, that they wouldn't be able to dig them out, but she still insisted that she wanted to see. It's been quite some time since either of them have made this trip. They used to every four or five months, just to see if the status had changed, leaving the other behind with Madi, but it's always a pointless trip. 

It hurts to come out here. Bellamy doesn't like to stand on the ground that Octavia is trapped under, not being able to get to her, not knowing how she's doing beneath it. But it's been so long now that he's just nervous about what he may find. 

He's scared that he'll find a place that has changed in any way, meaning he could have dug them out sooner, and he's scared he'll find that nothing's changed. 

They go as far as the Rover will take them, noting the very few changes the remains of Polis has gone through. Storms most likely came through and sent things flying, so it's not the exact same, but there's not that much of a difference. Everything is still covered in rubble, empty and broken. 

When Madi wakes up and comes stumbling out of the Rover, she gasps, her eyes wide in surprise. “It's all just...gone,” she breathes out. 

Clarke clears her throat. “Yeah, it is. Come on, the bunker is this way.” 

The walk through the fallen city is a somber one. Bellamy is reminded of the first time he and Clarke came here after the death wave, still hoping that they could get down to their people. He'd wanted to plant his feet and stay, to never leave where Octavia was, to die here if that's what it took. Looking over at Madi and Clarke, he's never been so glad that he let Clarke change his mind. 

Madi kicks rocks with a sour face, looking around like she can feel the wrongness of the empty surroundings. She runs her gloved hand along half-collapsed buildings, staring at them like she can imagine the activity that _Praimfaya_ erased away. She looks at Bellamy and Clarke and watches past memories flash behind their eyes, her lips tipped down in a frown. 

It's the first time she's ever left the Valley, and now she knows why they've been reluctant to let her. There's no point, nothing to find. 

Like she said, it's all just _gone._

“They're under there,” Bellamy murmurs, stopping at the mound of rocks and rubble that lays heavy over where the bunker is. 

Madi stares at it. “Octavia is down there?” 

“And Abby, Kane, Jackson, Miller, Indra…” Bellamy trails off, sharing a look with Clarke. “Hundreds of people from other clans.” 

“What do you think they're doing right now?” Madi asks, stepping closer with a frown. 

Bellamy swallows. “I don't know.” 

That's why it hurts so much, he thinks. If he could just _know,_ he'd feel so much better about not being able to get to his little sister. If he could know that she's safe, not hurting, not fighting, it would all be so much simpler than this. 

He knows Clarke feels the same. She ducks her head now, her hands curling into tight fists, and he wishes he could help her. He can't, though. There's nothing he can say or do that will make this any better. 

The fact is, they don't know how the others are. Bellamy doesn't know if Octavia is okay, Clarke doesn't know if Abby is, and they won't know for as long as it takes for the others to get down from Space. Anything could be happening beneath the ground _right now,_ and there's nothing they can do about it. 

“What if Octavia is laughing right now?” Madi says suddenly, looking over at them. “Maybe Abby just told her a joke, and she's smiling.” 

“Maybe,” Bellamy says, his entire being softening at Madi’s positive outlook. 

“Mom doesn't tell that many jokes,” Clarke murmurs, her lips curling up at the corners. “No, it's definitely Miller telling the joke.” 

“They're eating, everyone in the bunker sharing a meal from the farm.” Bellamy looks over at Clarke, holding her gaze. “Kane is probably going around, being friendly with all the other clans. Abby is with Octavia and Indra, making fun of him.” 

Clarke smiles at him. “Maybe they're talking about us, wondering what we're all doing in Space. It'll come as a surprise if they find out that we stayed on the ground and found you.” She turns her gaze to Madi, reaching out to smooth her hand over Madi’s hair, drawing her a little closer despite the heat. 

“When,” Madi says, tilting her head back to look up into Clarke's face. “You said _if_ they find out.” 

“Did I?” Clarke murmurs, her smile growing tight as Madi pulls away and paces closer to the rubble. She looks over at Bellamy, her throat bobbing as their eyes meet and hold. “My mistake.” 

Madi glances back at them. “Can they hear us?” 

“No,” Bellamy tells her. 

“Oh.” Madi looks down at the ground, her smile slipping off her face. After a beat, she forces it back and turns towards them. “We should eat with them. We can't be there, but we can have a meal at the same time. I know we brought food.” 

Clarke blinks. “Yeah, we did. That's actually a nice idea, Madi. Go find us a stable place to sit.” 

“Okay!” Madi chirps, pleased that they're actually doing what she says. She starts maneuvering over the rubble carefully, trying to get as close to where the bunker is as possible. 

“Two more years, almost,” Bellamy murmurs as Clarke moves to stand beside him. 

“Two more years,” she echoes, reaching out to slip her hand in his. 

He twitches at the contact, looking down at their gloved hands wrapping around each other. He remembers standing in front of the bunker the first time they found it after the death wave, remembers the feeling of her mindlessly gripping his hand. They'd been mildly arguing about going away to travel the wasteland, and he doesn't think he would have ever refused her when she was so serious. 

That certainty that he was going to die, feeling at peace with it, is so far away now. He barely remembers it. It strikes him that he cares about his life and hers, about them living, but he hadn't then. He thinks it was the first time he ever thought about death and welcomed the idea of it. 

Now, standing here with the weight of Clarke's hand in his, he won't accept death without a fight. For her, for Madi, for himself. 

Clarke clears her throat and pulls her hand away when Madi starts waving her arms, indicating that she found a spot for them. Bellamy is briefly bereft at the empty weight in his hand, blindsided by the realization that he wanted Clarke to keep holding on. The yearning surprises him and he doesn't move, blinking at her as she walks away. 

“Coming?” Clarke asks him, glancing back at him with her eyebrows raised. 

Bellamy coughs, shaking the feeling off with effort, nodding. “Yeah, I'm right behind you.” 

Madi has chosen a spot with one large, flat piece of rubble and a round rock across from it. She claims the rock for herself, perched up on it with one leg drawn up to her chest and the other dangling. Clarke sits down on the rubble, and Bellamy settles next to her, watching her pull out the food they brought. Fruit and cooked meat wrapped in sheets of paper from the Village, cold but good nonetheless. 

They tear into it silence, their canteens settled against their hips as they drink between bites. Bellamy looks around at the fallen city, thinking of all the memories he's had here. There's many that he doesn't want to revisit, times his and those he cares about lives were in peril. He doesn't like the memories, but they won't ever go away, he knows. 

He can only hope to move forward past it, move so far that they don't hurt to think about one day. He doubts that's possible, but he has hope. 

“Huh.” Madi’s little sound of confusion draws their attention, and she's staring down at the last bite of her meat with a furrow in her brow. She looks at them with a frown. “I just thought about it, but they're not eating the same thing we are.” 

“No, they're not,” Clarke confirms, lips twitching. 

“What do you think they're eating?” Madi asks. 

Bellamy smiles at her. “Whatever it is, I'm sure it's a balanced meal.” 

* * *

“No! _Fleimkepa, no!”_

Bellamy sits up in the bed so fast that he doesn't even realize that Clarke is doing the same thing until their heads glance off each other. For a moment, they rub their temples and scowl at each other, then immediately forget the pain when Madi whimpers again. Their heads snap over in sync.

Madi is curled up into a tight ball, her face twisted as she mutters under her breath. She's still clearly asleep, but it's apparent that she's in the midst of a nightmare, and a really bad one by the looks of it. She still has them sometimes, but not so bad that she ever cries out or kicks the covers off of her, thrashing about in her rickety bed. 

Bellamy and Clarke are out of their bed in a flash. 

“Madi,” Clarke says soothingly, reaching out as Bellamy does, gently jostling her awake. Madi’s eyes snap open and she gasps as she flings herself up, still locked in the dream as she kicks out at them. “No, hey, it's okay. Madi, it's okay, we're here. Me and Bellamy are right here. Shhh.” 

The soothing tone helps her relax, and in moments, Madi has stopped trying to fight them. They ease into the open spots on either side of her as she wraps her arms around her knees and trembles. She doesn't say anything, doesn't cry, just looks straight ahead with blank eyes as her breaths shudder out of her. 

“Madi,” Bellamy rumbles as soothingly as he can, rubbing her arm. “If you want to talk about the nightmare, we'll listen, okay?” 

“They got me this time,” Madi whispers, her eyes distant like she's looking at something they'll never be able to see. “They don't usually get me.” 

Bellamy shares a look with Clarke. “Who got you, Madi?” he asks slowly. 

_“Fleimkepa,”_ Madi whispers, that one word spoken like it describes all the monsters in the world. 

“Madi,” Clarke says gently, ducking down to try and draw her gaze, failing miserably, “they can't—” 

“They come in the night. I'm hiding, and I hear them come in. People fight for me, to keep me safe. I will die if I'm found because I am a _natblida._ I won't win the Conclave. I won't live. The _fleimkepa_ kills them all and comes for me.” Madi closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and swallowing thickly. “Most of the time, they don't find me. This time, they did.” 

“Okay, hey, they can't get to you, Madi,” Clarke whispers, reaching out to cup Madi’s head. She drops a kiss on her hair. “We won't ever let them get you.” 

“You're safe,” Bellamy promises her, rubbing soothing circles into her arm. “We got you.” 

Madi opens her eyes, but there's an emptiness in her gaze. “That's what you say before you die. Every time, you say you'll protect me, say that you'll never let them take me. It's what everyone always said, what they all say in my dreams. You all die keeping your promise, and sometimes they get me anyway.” 

Bellamy looks over Madi’s head, sharing a lost look with Clarke. He doesn't know what to do about this, how to reassure her. They only know certain things about her past before they found her, as she's usually tightlipped about it. She doesn't talk about her parents, or what her life was like, or how she learned to survive on her own. They've guessed that she was on the run before _Praimfaya_ because she's a _natblida,_ her family keeping her safe from the fate of ending up in the Conclave where she could die. Bellamy remembers the first time Madi ever spoke to them, spitting out _Fleimkepa_ like they were the enemy. 

To her, they seemed like the enemy, and she'd been raised to think all enemies were _fleimkepas,_ so it makes sense that she would call them that. He just never knew how deep her fear went, and he certainly never would have guessed that she had nightmares about her family dying to protect her from that fate, nor that they would be included in that. 

“Okay,” Clarke says finally, taking a deep breath and grabbing Madi’s chin gently, forcing her to look up and focus. “It's okay to be scared, Madi, but remember that we're here. Right now, we're all safe, and me and Bellamy will _always_ make sure you are. We love you.” She makes Madi look at him, and he smiles and nods. “Alright, now why don't you go back to sleep? And, this time, dream only good things because life, right now, is good. Okay?” 

Madi nods and swallows. “Okay,” she says in a small voice, letting Clarke ease her back down. Bellamy draws the covers back over her, and he doesn't even hesitate to kiss her forehead. “Bellamy?” 

“Yes?” he murmurs. 

“I don't want to hide anymore,” Madi whispers. 

Bellamy blinks hard, struck by those words, having heard them all his life from his little sister. It makes his heart wrench in his chest, and he has to take a second to get himself under control. Once he gets his breath back, he reaches out and pushes her hair out of her face, smiling at her. 

He thinks about not saying it, remembering the effect the words had last time. He thinks about how Octavia learned to fight, tired of hiding, and how that turned her into a warrior. He thinks about what happened to Wells, about Charlotte crying in a damp cave from nightmares of her own. He thinks about it for a long, intense moment, and decides to say it anyway with an addition. 

“Then don't,” Bellamy tells her gruffly. He holds her gaze, willing himself to get it right this time. “We will teach you how to defend yourself, that way you can protect yourself against your demons when you're awake, and they won't get you when you're asleep.” He can feel Clarke's heavy gaze on the side of his face, but he doesn't look away from Madi. “But remember, only demons will try to harm you, and those that don't will not deserve slaying. Do you understand?” 

Madi nods. “I understand.” 

“Good,” Bellamy whispers. “Now, try to get some sleep, okay? We'll be right here.” 

Clarke smiles and kisses her forehead, tucking the covers more firmly around her, and Madi turns her back to them. It takes a while, but her breathing eventually evens out to a deep rhythm that they know well. It means she's officially back to sleep. 

Despite this, they stay kneeling by her bed for a long time, waiting. She doesn't appear to have another nightmare, sleeping on peacefully like Clarke and Bellamy's words have eased some of her troubles. He doesn't know if they said the right things, or if there are right things to say in situations like this, but if it helps her sleep better, he's glad they said them. 

It's a long time before they move back to their bed, their joints popping like they're a lot older than they are, proof that they've lived hard lives. It makes him realize that he's twenty-five years old, nearly twenty-six, and Clarke recently turned twenty-one. They're both so young, objectively, but they matured way past their age years ago. Their bodies have been put through hell—collecting scars, long-time aches from injuries, tension seemingly permanent in their muscles. Kneeling by Madi’s bed for that long makes them stiff, makes things crack when they stand. 

Crawling into bed is a relief for his body after a long day of hunting and doing things around the Village. Relaxing as he lays down doesn't help relieve his worry for Madi, though. He rolls onto his side, a wrinkle in his brow as Clarke turns towards him, her head lying over on her hands. 

“Was that okay?” Bellamy breathes. 

Clarke reaches across the space between them to hesitantly thread their fingers loosely together. “It was better than okay, Bellamy. You did good.” 

Bellamy feels her cold fingers pressed through the crevices of his warm ones, and for the first time, he stops to consider that they do this a lot. They never used to hold hands like this, rarely even drawing comfort from each other in any other way than words and reassurances. There were moments, of course—a surprise hug that Bellamy was so stunned by that it took him a moment to return it, a touch to the shoulder that Clarke reached up and held onto while leaning her head over on his hand, her fingers skating his temple as she told him to use his head. Hugs in moments when it was so hard that they needed it, fleeting touches to get through the rough moments, bumping shoulders as they showed a united front as co-leaders. Things like that, but infrequent. 

Now, a day barely goes by where they don't hold hands, even for a brief amount of time. They lean into each other's sides, or they hug when their grief nearly drowns them, or they reach out for a touch to the shoulder, arm, hand, _something._ It would seem rare for them _not_ to touch these days, and Bellamy has never stopped to think about that, about how they reached this point or why. It just feels natural. 

And, sometimes, he'll wake up in the morning to find their bodies have drifted close together in the night. They generally fall asleep with their backs to each other, but every now and again, they must turn over and scoot behind each other. He'll occasionally open his eyes to feel Clarke's back pressed against his front, his arm thrown loosely over her waist, nose buried in her hair and their legs tangled. Or, sometimes, she'll have snuggled up behind his back, cupping his body with hers, leg thrown over his hip and her nose pressed to his spine. 

He never really thinks about it, just rolls away and gets up, brushing it from his mind. Sure, it feels nice, and sometimes he'll wait a few moments with his eyes closed, just to bask in the feeling of another human being in his arms or holding him, but then he'll start the day and not think about it again. Clarke must do the same when she wakes up before him, because she never brings it up. 

Bellamy knows it's been nearly three years with just the two of them as viable adults capable of seeking intimate comfort from each other, but the thought has never crossed his mind that they already _are._ He didn't even realize how they naturally seek out touch and the comfort of contact, that fact becoming background noise. All they have _is_ each other to hold onto, and after some of the things they've been through, they need to hold on sometimes. 

It's a good, normal, _simple_ thing. He knows that. 

And yet, he feels her fingers tangle with his and it makes him confused for a second. He knows he doesn't want her to let go, but he can't pinpoint when he started anticipating her touch. Now that he's thinking about it, he realizes that he always feels better with her hands on him, and his hands often itch with the urge to reach out and touch her—just on the arm, or her hair, or her hand, nothing serious. 

It's just a comfort thing, he tells himself, but he's starting to wonder if that's true. But, if it's not that, then what is it? 

He can't think of an answer. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs, preparing to ask her. If anyone will know, it's her. She always knows. 

But she's asleep. He blinks at the realization, leaning forward to stare hard at the impression of her face in the dark. Her eyes are closed, and he knows what her breathing sounds like when she's genuinely asleep. She's out like a light, just like that, still holding his hand. He sighs and drops his head back to the pillow. 

Whatever it is, he's not going to worry about it. Probably some natural human response or something, nothing to be too curious about. Anyway, it feels nice and Clarke doesn't seem to care, so that's good enough for him. He decides to just leave it be, closing his eyes and taking a note out of Clarke's book. 

Bellamy falls asleep holding her hand, too. 

* * *

“Again!” 

Madi takes a deep breath, her chest heaving as she wipes sweat off her forehead. Her eyes narrow as she watches Clarke circle her, every move catalogued with intense focus. Bellamy can see that she's tired, but she's also determined, and Clarke looks all for the world like she's having a relaxing time. 

He sees her body coil right before she springs at Madi, and he watches intently as Madi ducks away from the strike. Her eyes get a little wide as they do each time Clarke makes a lung for her, still a little unused to seeing Clarke's face so blank, her eyes calculating. Bellamy gets that. He remembers the first time he saw that expression cross her face, and he remembers how much it had scared him at that time. 

It was back when she told him to go onto Mount Weather on his own, saying that she had been weak. Even though he'd been insisting on going, that brief moment of her being so apathetic had hurt, just for a split second. He then realized that she was doing what was best for her people, which was what he was trying to do and why he wanted to go in the first place, and that hurt had washed away. But he remembers that flash of fear he felt from her expression, the Clarke who broke down after killing Finn seemingly dead and gone. 

She's in there, and he knows that now. She will always be in there, no matter what front she puts up, wearing it like armor to do the things she needs to do. It can be scary to see head on when you're so accustomed to a Clarke who's unabashed in her emotions, open and warm, seemingly harmless. And sure, she is that—will _always_ be that—but she is also _Wanheda,_ Commander of Death, and that won't just go away. Personally, he's never been a fan of that title himself, but it has taken a life of its own anyway.

For Madi, she isn't used to this. She's never seen Clarke look so cold and calculating, so it surprises her to meet it head on. It's probably a little scary to see it in action with Clarke taking this _very_ seriously. 

Of course, Bellamy knows she's holding back. She'd never actually _hurt_ Madi, she just wears an expression and a demeanor that suggests she would. It gets the blood pumping, the adrenaline flowing, and it makes Madi fight harder, learn quicker, do better. 

“Again,” Bellamy calls out once more, watching Clarke lunge forward on command. 

Madi tries to skitter back, but her boot bears down in the dirt too hard, causing her to skid a little. With a yelp, she throws her hand out to knock Clarke back, instinctively defending herself, and her hand clips Clarke in the face _hard._ It makes her curse under her breath and straighten up, lifting her fingers to her lip that's bleeding. Madi looks _horrified._

“Good,” Clarke praises, licking the blood from her split lip and laughing at Madi’s expression. “Hey, no, don't feel bad. It's like Bellamy said, right? If we're all going to train, we're going to have to get a little hurt—some blood, bumps, and bruises are normal.” 

“Clarke's right,” Bellamy says easily, pushing away from the table to pace closer. He takes Clarke's chin in his hands, peering at her lip to make sure it's fine, and Clarke rolls her eyes. It _is_ fine, so he turns to Madi with a grin. “Don't worry about it, Clarke is a big girl. She can handle herself.” 

Madi grimaces. “I don't know…” 

“Are you kidding?” Clarke teases, scrunching her nose at Madi playfully, looking nothing like the dangerous force she did moments ago. “Believe it or not, Madi, I'm actually not that bad of a fighter. I can kick Bellamy's ass. Wanna see?” 

“You can?” Madi throws a skeptical look at Bellamy, raising her eyebrows. _“Really?”_

Bellamy snorts. “Yeah, I don't know where she's getting that idea. No way can she kick my ass.” 

“Oh, is that what you think?” Clarke arches an eyebrow, and after a moment, she dips her head. With a small smirk, she pushes Madi gently away, turning towards Bellamy. “Alright, let's see who can kick who's ass. Don't hold back.” 

“You really don't want to do this,” Bellamy says with a sigh, holding up his hands as he takes a few steps to the side, further away from Madi. “You know I trained with Lincoln, right?” 

Clarke's eyes flash. “Sure, but I traveled Grounder territory on my own for months.” She tilts her head and smiles. “Oh, and Lexa taught me a thing or two.”

“Kinky,” Bellamy teases, ignoring the confused sound Madi makes from the table she's gone to sit at, watching them inch closer with rapt attention. 

“Don't hold back,” Clarke says again, looking amused as she balls her fists up. “Because I sure won't.” 

Bellamy chuckles and broades his stance. “Wouldn't have it any other way, Princess.” 

The truth is, neither of them are as skilled as a Grounder is, no matter who they trained with for brief bouts of time or how many times they had to defend themselves in a fight. They don't have years of experience like Grounders do, and they often used weapons that didn't require hand-to-hand combat. But, at the same time, they've learned to fight well enough that they can train Madi, and _with_ her, willing to get even better with time. 

So, for now, they probably wouldn't win hand-to-hand with a seasoned warrior, but they'd have a fighting chance, at least. With time, they'll get good, really good, and Madi will, too. 

That's later, though. Right now, Bellamy has to figure out how exactly he's going to fight Clarke without actually hurting her, because truth be told, he will be holding back. He'll never hurt her, no matter what she does to him, but he also doesn't want to lose—it's a bit of a conundrum. 

Clarke doesn't give him time to work it out. She just surges forward and punches him square in the face. Not lightly, not playfully, but a full-on _punch._ His head rocks to the side with the force of it, and he curses sharply in pure surprise, eyes bulging as he looks at her. She's wearing that cold, empty expression again, but he's not really scared. 

So she meant it when she said she wasn't holding back. Okay, then. Good to know. In that case, he will be putting in a little more force than he intended, though he knows he won't use all his strength. Because, deep down, he knows she's holding back just a little, but not enough for it to be obvious. He just _knows_ her, knows how strong she is, knows how serious she is about training Madi. 

He respects it. 

So, when she goes to swing at him again, he grabs her wrists and slams it down, twisting it and yanking her around to pin it behind her back. She hisses between her teeth at the strain, then proceeds to kick him in the leg and rip herself free. He just swings his hand out to clip her in the side, watching her stumble with a grunt. Huffing, she glares at him and shoves him _hard,_ smaller hands slamming into his chest. 

“Madi,” she calls out. “A taller opponent doesn't automatically mean you're at a disadvantage. Just because he's a man doesn't mean you're weaker than him. You just have to know what you can do and what will hurt him the worst.” 

That's about all the warning he gets before she kicks out towards his groin, and he yelps when he dances out of range. He waggles his finger at her and laughs a little breathlessly. “Oh, I see how this is going to be, Clarke. Fine. Okay, Madi, if your opponent is a stubborn little _asshole_ who fights dirty, then there's a couple of things you can do.” 

He lunges forward, knocking her arm away when she goes to hit him again. She brings her knee up to his stomach, which knocks out all the air from his lungs, and before he knows what's happening, she's slamming her foot on top of his with such force that he doubles over slightly. He coughs, blinking slowly, and Clarke's elbow comes down heavy on his shoulder, making him hit his knees. 

“You were saying?” Clarke asks him, arching an eyebrow as he looks up at her. 

Bellamy wheezes a laugh. “A couple of things like fight back just as dirty.” 

He reaches out and hooks his hands around her legs, yanking them out from under her. She goes down _hard,_ hitting her back with a gasp, and he watches her eyes blink rapidly. He doesn't wait for her to collect herself, just crawls forward and throws his leg over hers, pinning her down with his body. He puts his forearm to her throat, and he's sure that's it. 

It is not it. 

Clarke ducks her chin and _bites_ him. He is so stunned by this that he actually rears back slightly, reeling from the pain of her actually, genuinely clamping down on his arm without a second thought. His little slip gives her enough leverage to bring her knee up and slam it into his groin, which hurts more than he will _ever_ be able to describe. He groans a little, tipping forward, and she uses the momentum to roll them, landing with her straddling him. 

Even though he feels like he can't catch his breath with how hard Clarke just kneed him in the balls, he still shoves her hand away from his face. It becomes a little bit of a slap fight as he tries to defend himself and she tries to pin him, and it can't look anything but absolutely ridiculous. He's pretty sure he can hear Madi faintly giggling, actually. 

Clarke's lip is bleeding again, but she doesn't seem to notice, and he has the very stupid idea to use that to his advantage. If this was a real fight for his life, he would do it that way, expose any weakness on the person he's fighting and exploit it. It's with that thought in mind that he reaches up and presses his thumb to her bottom lip. 

“Ouch, shit!” Clarke bursts out, flinching back, and she scowls as she sinks her nails into his wrist to slam down the hand that had raised to her face. 

Bellamy coughs and bucks his hips, but she just bares down on him. “Dammit, Clarke. Can you just—” 

He swipes with his other hand, but she just grabs that one and pins it down, too. She presses all her weight down, her chest heaving, face flushed and eyes bright. He goes to lift up to try and throw her off, but she just pulls her head back and swings it forward, knocking her forehead into his nose. It's hard enough to make him curse and maybe bleed a little, but it doesn't break it or knock him out, so she is, in fact, holding back quite a bit. 

He also gets the message. Sighing, he goes limp under her and raises his eyebrows, admitting defeat without actually saying a word. Her grip loosens and she stares at him for a beat, slowly letting his arms go. His wrists throb where she lets go, and strangely enough, the phantom feeling of her fingers digging in lingers and makes his skin tingle. He blinks. 

“Told you I could kick your ass,” Clarke mutters, leaning back with a small smile. 

Bellamy is suddenly very aware that her thighs are bracketing in his sides, and she's essentially just kind of sitting on his lap. This information processes through his mind, and then his mind decides to go offline at that, which is not ideal. 

_Nope, no, not Clarke,_ he thinks a little desperately. 

It's been too long since he's had any kind of sexual release. He goes _months_ without finding the time and space to have that, and even then, it's not very satisfying. It's been literal years since he's had sex, and frankly, he misses it very much. But not with Clarke. It _can't_ be Clarke. Because she's his best friend, they're raising Madi together, and they have a very important relationship that has never involved sex before. The _only_ reason he's thinking about it now is because there's pressure on his crotch and he's a guy. 

That's it. Doesn't mean anything. He knows this. 

“Fine,” Bellamy says carefully, pretending that he is not thinking about sex and missing it while Clarke is in the position she's in. “You kicked my ass.” 

Clarke smirks. “Your nose is bleeding.” 

“It is?” Bellamy instantly forgets his libido and reaches up to feel his nose that is, in fact, bleeding. Clarke climbs off him and offers her hand, which he takes, cradling his nose. “Ow.” 

“Here, tilt it forward,” Clarke murmurs gently, her medical experience coming out like she wasn't the one to make his nose bleed in the first place. She grabs his nose at the bridge and holds it tight, tilting his chin forward until he's squinting at the dirt on the ground. “It'll stop in a moment. I'll go get some cloth to clean your face. And, uh, sorry.” 

Bellamy looks at her from the corner of his eyes, his face blank. “Are you, though? Are you _really?”_

Clarke laughs softly. “To be fair, you chose not to believe me, and you held back.” 

She throws him a pointed look and pulls away, carefully moving towards the house, leaving Bellamy to stare after her with a craned neck. He wonders if she knows that he's aware she held back, too. Kicking his ass or not, he knows she could have inflicted much worse, but she chose not to. 

He's overly pleased for a guy who just got punched in the face by his best friend, then proceeded to get his ass kicked by her so hard that he's walking away with a bleeding nose. Stupidly, he's proud of her. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Madi asks, approaching him a little warily. 

Bellamy tosses her a grin. “I'm fine, kiddo.” 

Madi frowns at him. “Will my nose bleed, too?” 

“No, we'll never train with you like that.”

“Why? What if I fight someone someday who fights like that? What if I need to know?” 

“We'll train you to be prepared for someone coming at you like that so you know what to do when they do. You don't have to feel it to know it can happen.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Well…” Bellamy takes stock of himself. It's not the worst thing he's ever felt, all things considered. It's just a dull throb and a swollen feeling. “You know, Madi, I think my pain tolerance is a little too high for me to properly answer that. Let's just say that it doesn't feel great, but I'm perfectly fine.” 

“I know,” Madi murmurs with a chuckle. “Clarke would never _really_ hurt you.” 

Bellamy laughs with her. “Yeah, I'm aware of that, but please don't burst her bubble, okay?” 

Madi grins like she's pleased that they have a secret between them. “I won't say a word.” 

“Say a word about what?” Clarke asks, suddenly walking up to them with an arched eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” Bellamy says easily. “Now get over here and fix what you messed up, Princess.” 

Clarke sticks her tongue out at him. “Don't pout. It's not a good look on you.” 

“So who am I training with next?” Madi asks, watching Clarke clean Bellamy's face gingerly with doubt creeping into her expression. 

“Me again,” Clarke tells her with a smile. “Bellamy should be fine soon, just bruised, but I want you to get used to a smaller opponent first.” 

“Small, but mighty,” Bellamy mutters. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I promise I won't make your nose bleed, Madi. Only your—only Bellamy's.” 

Bellamy stares at her flatly. “Wow, I'm so glad I get special treatment.” 

“Pouting again,” Clarke sing-songs. 

Madi laughs, openly pleased, her eyes glittering with amusement, and Clarke joins her. Bellamy just shakes his head at his ridiculous, perfect girls. 

* * *

The training takes its toll. 

They all train together in the evening, in the coolest part of the day, standing outside with various weapons and improving. Clarke gets better, so does Bellamy. It takes months, but their muscles grow firmer, their techniques get smoother, and fighting gets easier. They end each day tired and aching, but overall pleased with the progress. 

If they're tired at the end, Madi is dead on her feet. She's learning the most, training the hardest, improving in leaps and bounds. It seems to come natural to her, and Bellamy doesn't know if it's because she has nightblood, or if it's because she's a Grounder, or if she simply cares about it enough that she gets better by pure force of will. Either way, she falls into bed after dinner every day like clockwork, claiming that she's getting some of the best sleep of her life, and she hasn't had a nightmare since she began training with them. 

They have no doubts that she's going to be good, that she'll be able to defend herself if it comes down to it. Bellamy and Clarke don't talk about why, precisely, that she may need to protect herself in a fight one day, unwilling to think of that scenario. But they both know what pushes them to let her train, and it has more to do with than just her interest in it. 

The facts are, one day, that bunker is going to open, and they have no idea what could spill out. While Bellamy knows that Octavia and his people won't be a threat, there are eleven _hundred_ other Grounders in that bunker that could be. There's safety on this earth alone, but one day they won't be, and Bellamy knows it will eat him alive if something happens that they could have prepared her for. 

He hates that the world is like this, but it just is. 

Even still, they don't take her childhood from her. If she ever asks for a day off, she gets it. If she says she's too tired, they don't train that day. They still travel the island, Madi still gets lessons from Clarke—math now—and Bellamy still goes hunting with her. 

She's a happy kid, and it warms his heart. He can't help but soften at her every smile, remembering the small girl that would disappear into the woods to get away from them, the girl that wouldn't let them touch her, the girl who asked him if they'd make her leave, the girl who led Clarke into a bear trap. She's come so far from that, and it blows him away nearly every day to think that he has a hand in her growth. 

Sometimes, though...he wishes she would just _stop_ growing. It's a selfish part of him that wants her to stay small and safe with him and Clarke forever, but he can't beat it into submission. He watches her get bigger before his very eyes, and there are moments that he feels a little breathless at the thought of what life will be like when it isn't like this anymore. 

On top of her growing like a weed, she starts changing with time. Gets mouthier, feistier, takes an interest in things that have nothing to do with them, starts getting annoyed with lessons instead of intrigued by them. She's not a bad kid, far from it, but her attitude lights up and lets itself be known. 

Personally, Bellamy thinks it's _hilarious._

Clarke? Less so. 

When Madi comes marching out of the house, tossing her hair and rolling her eyes, Bellamy instinctively knows that Clarke will be following right after her. As predicted, Clarke comes stomping after Madi with narrowed eyes and her hands on her hips, which is a lot funnier than Bellamy will ever have the balls to admit. 

“You better be home before dark!” Clarke calls after Madi, crossing her arms. 

“Uh huh,” Madi replies vaguely, flapping her hand carelessly and ducking into the woods without looking back. 

Bellamy sits down his hammer, halfheartedly patting his half-built chair and pulling away. He paces closer to Clarke with his eyebrows raised, glancing at where Madi disappeared into the trees. 

That's not exactly new, but it's still taking a little getting used to. Madi had expressed interest in going off on her own over a month ago, wanting to go exploring without them following her. At first, neither of them had been happy about this, but they also couldn't think of a reason to say no. Madi knows this Valley as well as they do, and she can defend herself just fine, so there isn't that much danger she can encounter. To tell her no would be to restrict her, and they're trying not to do that. 

The first day she'd gone off on her own, she'd only been gone for a couple of hours that Bellamy and Clarke had spent the entirety of fretting. The second time, she was gone for longer, and Bellamy and Clarke had snapped. Despite the fact that they wanted to trust her, they were just so _worried,_ so they tracked her and watched her for a while. She never saw them, and they felt better knowing that she really was just enjoying some time to herself, so they felt guilty for intruding and left. 

By now, she goes off on her own pretty much every day after lessons, and she's always back in time for dinner and training sessions. She has stopped going hunting with them, but if they ever cross paths, she'll join them for the hell of it. If not, sometimes she'll bring back her own catches, proud and pleased. 

There are, of course, times when she sticks around. Just days when she decides she wants to linger around them, probably because she misses them, though she'll never admit it. 

Bellamy remembers when Octavia started getting older, thinking she was too cool to play the games she used to, claiming she wasn't a kid anymore. He remembers it breaking his heart then, but he doesn't let it this time, even if it's a sign of Madi growing up. No, he knows the truth. He sees the way Madi looks at Clarke, her eyes still full of wonder and love. He catches her in the trees above them every now and again when she's supposed to be out, sneaking back towards the camp just to check on them. 

He's older, wiser, and he knows how much she still adores them. He also knows that she's hit that _‘I am no longer a kid’_ stage, and it's almost interesting to see how it manifests in a child in this situation. He never calls her out on the fact that she still _is_ a child, just leaves her to her whims, and he watches Clarke slowly grow accustomed to it with time. 

Clarke is acting so much like a mother that Bellamy often finds it hard not to laugh at her outright. He also gets it because he remembers the first time he realized that Octavia was growing up and pulling away from him—it had been devastating. 

“You look like you've swallowed a callisto berry,” Bellamy tells her in amusement. 

Clarke huffs. “I already told you we're not calling them that.” 

“Ah, come on, it's _fitting,”_ Bellamy argues lightly, waggling his eyebrows. “They're beautiful, they're in those caves that look like bear dens. Let me have this.” 

“They're also extremely sour,” Clarke says dryly, leaning over on the recent post Bellamy put up on the porch, “and I _don't_ look like I swallowed one. I just…” 

Bellamy walks up onto the first step, almost eye-level with Clarke from this angle, and he's not used to being a little shorter than her. He grins. “Find something to do, Clarke. Your entire day and life cannot revolve around Madi. You'll go insane.” 

“I have things to do,” Clarke mutters. 

“So do them.” 

“Fine, I will.” 

Bellamy calls her bluff, shrugging and stepping backwards. “Alright. I'll be over here working on my chair if you need me.” 

He heads back over to his makeshift worktable, picking his hammer back up. Getting this chair put together without nails or screws is a lot harder than he'd thought it would be. Overall, he thinks it's actually coming along really well. It'll be a nice addition to the porch, anyway. 

He gets about two hits in with his hammer when he senses that Clarke is standing at his elbow. Slowly, he glances over his shoulder to find that she is, in fact, standing behind him with her arms crossed. She has that stubborn furrow in her brow that he knows well, and he knows she won't admit the truth. 

Facts are, Clarke hasn't been doing much of her own things since Madi started taking time away. She mostly just worries and pretends she isn't, fiddling mindlessly with pencils even though she's not drawing anything, and they're starting to run a little low on soap and fruit because she hasn't gone to gather anything in some time. He's fine to take over and do those things for her, no problem, but he isn't okay with her in a constant state of worry when she doesn't need to be. 

He gets it. He _really_ does. At first, he'd been the same way. Often while hunting, he'd miss good catches because he was too worried about Madi. He'd come back to the Village and do nothing for hours beside pace and wonder what Madi was doing, where she was at, if she was okay. He'd promptly realized that his life—and Clarke's—revolves solely around hers, like she's their sun and they just rotate around her. 

A fitting description, he supposes. It's not a bad thing, he doesn't think, not to care about her the way they do. But, for their own well-being and sanity, they have to live for themselves, too. _Especially_ while Madi is off doing her own things, not only for their health, but also to set a good example. 

So, he'd picked back up his routine, adjusting it appropriately, and things got a little easier. He still worries sometimes, still wonders about Madi until she comes home, but the time passes by quickly and he feels better. Clarke hasn't quite adjusted yet. 

“Do you need help?” Clarke asks him finally after he stares at her for a long time. 

Bellamy purses his lips. “Actually, I was thinking about taking a trip out of the Valley.” 

Clarke blinks. “What, _now?_ But Madi—” 

“Madi can handle herself,” Bellamy says gently, his lips curling up. “We can leave her a note and some cooked dinner. She will be fine, and we can be home before it gets too late.” 

“I don't know…” Clarke glances over at the spot Madi walked away, chewing her lip for a moment. “What if something happens and we're not here?” 

Bellamy sighs. “Clarke, anything can happen whether we are here or not, but it never does. Madi will be _fine._ Now, are you coming or not?” 

“I should stay.” 

“Okay, so stay. Just hang out here alone and do all those things you have to do.” 

Once again, he calls her bluff, walking away from his worktable without another word. He heads inside to put together a pack, lips curling up as he puts together a second one. He knows Clarke, and he's aware that she's itching to escape the way she's been living for the past month; she just needs a reason, a breakthrough, _something._ A trip away could be just the thing, if she'll actually let it. 

It's not about loving Madi any less, because there's nothing in the world that could make them do that, but it _is_ about learning to live alongside her rather than just because of her. 

When he steps outside, the packs thrown over his shoulder, hidden by the drapes of extra cloth he's put on to withstand the sun, he's not too terribly surprised to see that Clarke is on the porch. She flicks her gaze over him, frowning. 

“Where are you thinking about going?” Clarke asks him, her tone accusatory. 

“Remember that day that we went to check out those supplies together and nearly ended up being killed by Dax?” Bellamy murmurs. 

Her eyes don't even look foggy for a moment. She knows it instantly, and something about that pleases him. It's a day he'll never forget, no matter what happens in his life, and not because they found guns to help give them a fighting chance in a war—or so they thought, at that time. He'll never not recall in stark clarity the way her eyes softened when she told him that she needed him, that the rest of the hundred did, the way she offered him forgiveness when he didn't—and honestly still feels he doesn't—deserve it. 

“You were going to run,” Clarke mumbles. 

Bellamy nods. “I almost asked you to go with me.” 

He had. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, but he'd swallowed them down, the mere idea to outlandish to even voice. It didn't stop the desire from being there, however, and he'd wanted that, wanted to get away and for Clarke to come with him, the only person who he felt understood him at that moment. Turns out, she's one of the only ones who ever did and ever _will_ understand him, so that turned out to be a good instinct of his. 

It's almost ironic to think about now, though. How he'd wanted to leave back then, get away from all of it, even his own sister. He'd wanted Clarke to come with him, just the two of them living and surviving on their own, away from the horrors of war and responsibility. And now, here they are, alone in the world without any of their people, just Madi, and this has been the happiest he's been in years. 

“You didn't ask me, though.” Clarke looks at him curiously, her head tilting. “Why?” 

“Would you have come?” Bellamy asks her. 

Clarke's lips twitch, but her eyes are strained with old pain and memories. “I would have wanted to, even for just a moment.” 

Bellamy's face softens. “But?” 

“But I wouldn't have come, no.” 

“Then I guess it doesn't matter.”

“No,” Clarke agrees sadly, “I guess it doesn't.” 

“Right.” Bellamy looks away for a moment, ignoring the clench of his chest. These are aged wounds, just scars now, and though they will always linger, he has no interest in reopening them. “Well, I figured I'd go back there and see if any part of the bunker survived. I know for a fact that some guns got left behind because they were broken in places and no one had the time to fix them.” He shrugs and gestures around pointedly. “We have plenty of time now.” 

Clarke eyes him. “Bellamy, you know that bunker is probably collapsed, right? You won't find anything.” 

“Maybe not,” Bellamy allows, “but it can't hurt to look. Besides, what else do I have to do?” 

“Your chair,” Clarke suggests in amusement. 

Bellamy chuckles warmly. “It will be here when I get back,” he tells her, stepping forward to duck his head and stare at her seriously. “And Clarke, so will _Madi.”_

Clarke averts her eyes, indecision still apparent in her expression, but he can see her wavering. It's not his place to drag her along, but it is his choice to take care of her. Thankfully, he knows what she needs right now, and after all these years with her, he knows exactly how she works—convincing her is fairly easy. She has to feel like it's her choice, especially after years of dealing with the opposite. 

“I'm—I should stay,” she says again. 

He nods. “Okay. Well, I'm still going to leave a note for Madi. Be safe.” 

With that, he punctuates his words with a quick kiss to her forehead in passing, hopping down the steps from the porch. He grabs a piece of worn paper and steals the pencil that's not exactly a pencil, even if they call it that, and scribbles out a note. He watches Clarke come up behind him, peeking around his arm to read it with a small frown. 

_Heading out of the Valley to go check on something. There's food in the house. Don't leave the Village after dark, and don't worry. Promise to be back before you get to sleep. Be safe, love you._

With that, he reaches down in his boot for one of his daggers, stabbing the paper to the table, knowing Madi won't miss it. He doesn't look back at Clarke, just walks over to the back of the Rover. Tossing the packs in, he walks around and climbs in, cranking the Rover and waiting a beat. 

He doesn't have to wait that long. Before he can even shift the Rover fully into gear, Clarke is running to the driver side, her eyes wide as she peers at him. She looks determined, though, and his lips curl up. 

“I'm coming with you,” Clarke declares. “Just—just let go make a pack, get some extra layers, and then I'll be right back.”

“I made an extra pack and brought extra layers. It's already in the back.” Bellamy smirks at her. “Get in.” 

Clarke laughs a little breathlessly and shakes her head at him. “You are…” She doesn't finish, just turns and heads to the passenger side, sliding in and trying to hide her smile. She fails. 

“Amazing?” Bellamy suggests, raising his eyebrows at her as he puts the Rover into gear. 

“Something,” Clarke says softly, looking over at him, her smile growing on her face slowly. 

Bellamy clears his throat, looking over his shoulder as he starts to back up, fondly murmuring under his breath, “Yeah, so are you.” 

* * *

Clarke nudges him, making him throw her a knowing look. He _knows,_ okay? He does. It's just… 

It's stupid. Deep down, he knows his issues with this are uncalled for. He's just messed up, but that's not Madi’s fault. He can't let his past impact her future, no matter how cautious it has made him, no matter how much he aches to protect her. 

Even still, a part of him wishes he didn't find these guns and fix them. A couple of months has passed since he and Clarke located that bunker they found all those years ago, and it must be their lucky spot because it was as much of a success this time as it was the last. And, in a way, it had brought them closer. 

The trip had solidified their decision to not only live for Madi, but also for themselves. They're still worried and protective, and it's no doubt that they'd give their last breath for her, but that doesn't mean they can't enjoy this peace now. They do focus on Madi, mostly, but they find time for themselves, too. 

As for Madi, she had done a complete one-eighty when they got home after their trip. They'd exited the Rover while giggling like idiots, and Madi had marched out of the house in a comical fit of fury. It was like positions had suddenly flipped, and she was lecturing _them_ on leaving recklessly, and it all boiled down to the fact that she loves and worries about them as much as they do her. It had ended with her giving the cold shoulder until bed, then she'd proceeded to crawl into bed with them like she hadn't done in a long time, sleeping through the night between them while they grinned at each other. 

After that, Clarke loosened up plenty. 

But, as for the guns, they'd only stocked up on a couple in working order—ones that were missed all those years ago—and the others were in terrible need of maintenance. Bellamy didn't know exactly how to build a gun, but he wasn't completely oblivious either, not with the things he learned from his time in Arkadia. That said, it took him quite a while to get all the guns fixed and able to shoot. 

Which brings him to now.

It's Madi’s birthday. They’ve decided she is turning nine towards the end of the year, and why not? She looks like she's nine, which makes Bellamy oddly emotional because he's known her for three years now, and that fact nearly barrels him over. 

To try and detox himself to Madi being around guns, he'd allowed her to help him fix them up, though she never touched them. She was hesitant at first, but then she'd really enjoyed spending time with him, and she seemed to grow a little attached to one gun in particular. It's a handgun, just like Clarke's, but Bellamy had to fix it up using some different resources from the Grounder Village, and Madi had seemed to like it more than the others. 

The _last_ thing Bellamy wants to do is put a gun in Madi’s hands. It just feels like condoning a child to the repercussions of destruction. But, deep down, he knows why it's important and why he should trust her. Just like Clarke, he believes she'll be better. 

“It's going to be okay,” Clarke whispers. 

Bellamy swallows. “I know.” 

He does, is the thing. It doesn't make it any easier. He sets his shoulders, picks up Madi’s favorite gun, and he heads outside. Clarke follows him quietly, not saying a word, simply watching. 

“Bellamy!” Madi whirls around with a bright grin, holding up the fish she's been cooking, her eyes lit with excitement. “I got it to taste just like yours! Well, mostly, but it's much better _and_ I didn't burn it.”

Bellamy's mouth quirks up. “That's good, kiddo. We'll eat that in a second, but first, come here. Me and Clarke want to give you something for your birthday, okay? But it comes with rules.” 

“Everything comes with rules.” Madi rolls her eyes and sits the fish down, moving closer. 

“No. Hey, look at me, I'm _serious,”_ Bellamy tells her, squatting down so he can look her dead in her eyes. 

When she sees how serious he is, she blinks and instinctively straightens up. “What is it?” 

“This.” Bellamy holds the gun up, bringing it front and center, the gun lying in his palm. She stares at it, her eyes wide. “We'll teach you how to shoot it. I don't know how long it will last because of the repairs, but it will be your gun for the next two years at least. We'll teach you how to use all of them here.” He takes a deep breath, holding her gaze. “We're going to teach you these things for your _safety,_ Madi, not because we want you to know. But, if we're going to do that, we're also going to tell you some of the things that these guns can do because we don't want you to do them. Do you understand?” 

“I understand,” Madi says earnestly, nodding a little frantically. “It's serious, and I'll follow the rules.” 

Bellamy nods at her. “When you point this gun, it needs to be for a good reason. Don't put your finger on the trigger if you're not prepared for what comes after. Because whatever you're aiming at, depending on where you aim, _will_ die. And Madi, you can't ever take that bullet back when it leaves the gun.” 

_“If,”_ Clarke cuts in, “you don't want it now, there's no shame in that. We understand.” 

Madi swallows and looks between them, somehow seeming young and older all at once. After a beat, she releases a slow breath and nods. “You're right, there's no shame in not wanting it. I know that neither of you do, but you have them.” She holds out her hand, her expression serious. “I don't want a gun for the reasons you hate them, I want a gun for the reasons you carry them anyway. Teach me. I'm ready.”

Bellamy blinks slowly, strangely appeased by Madi’s sage words, and he carefully reaches out and places the gun in her hand. It's the first time she's held one since she's picked up his, and this time, he's not scared. He's just determined to make that fear mean nothing in the long run. 

He slowly stands, feeling Clarke step forward and lean into his side. He reaches out, dragging his fingers down her arm to lace their fingers together, something in him settling at the contact. 

Side-by-side, they watch Madi examine her new gun. 

Bellamy smiles slightly. “Happy birthday, Madi.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone catch the heavy, ironic moment? Let me know! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I honestly cherish every single one! 
> 
> See y'all next Friday ❤
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


	5. Year Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyooo, happy Friday, folks! Back at it again with another chapter. This one is 98% lighthearted, but that 2%... Ooft. 
> 
> Couple a' warnings for this chap: First of all, I don't know the first thing about making Hooch (alcohol) of ANY kind, and I did research to the best of my writer abilities, but I'm sure i made a mistake somewhere. The description is vague, though. Second, there is some details about an injury this chapter and while it isn't exactly gruesome, it is described. Again, nothing as heavy as the show itself, where it is extremely gruesome, but still. 
> 
> With that being said, go forth and enjoy ;)

“I can't believe she's turning ten this year.” 

“Illegal,” Bellamy says immediately, grunting as he cranes his head back to catch the berry he's dubbed as the venus berries—they're very sweet, the juice coming out a pearly red, but the outside is a yellowish white. He claims that Venus in Roman Mythology was the goddess of love—hence the sweetness and the color of the juice which is associated with love—and then the planet Venus is yellowish white. Despite her refusing to call them this, he insists. “Madi is still six years old and this is all just a fever dream.” 

“Stop it,” Clarke says with a laugh, shaking her head and reaching over to steal a venus berry—internally cursing herself for calling them that. “Don't wish a fever dream on us. It'd be our luck that this  _ is  _ that.” 

“From the radiation?” Bellamy muses, looking over at her with his eyebrows raised. 

Clarke snorts. “That would be our luck, wouldn't it?” 

“All jokes aside, what do you think the radiation did to us?” Bellamy watches her curiously, and she averts her eyes. He leans up on his elbow on the hood of the Rover, staring at her. “Clarke, do you know something about the radiation that I don't?” 

“I mean, it's not—” Clarke stops, clearing her throat. She wishes he never asked her this. She hasn't thought about it since she read the notes back when Bellamy was recovering from getting nightblood. “Look, it's not set-in-stone. Anything can happen.” 

Bellamy reaches out to grab her shoulder, turning her towards him. She doesn't want to meet his eyes, but he's making that difficult. “What is  _ it?  _ If it's something to do with my body, I deserve to know.” 

“You're less likely to have these issues,” Clarke murmurs, swallowing thickly. “Your exposure to radiation wasn't as concentrated as mine, and I kept you in your suit for as long as possible. It's me who'll most likely be affected, Bellamy, not you.” 

“Oh.” Bellamy blinks and frowns at her. “But there's a small chance that I could, right? So tell me.” 

Clarke sighs and lifts her gaze to his. “Infertility. Um, my chances of getting pregnant are very,  _ very  _ slim. For you, because you had less exposure, your sperm count could be low, but you still could...you know.” 

She looks away, frowning up at the canopy of trees above them, avoiding his gaze. She hasn't thought about this in years, and she remembers reading the notes her mom had made. She'd wondered if that had any impact on her mother's decision to keep Clarke from getting in the radiation chamber, damning thousands of people to death, and for what? 

All because Clarke wouldn't be able to have kids after? She doesn't care about that, not then, not now. She'd give anything if she could go back and save the lives of the people with her blood. 

Sure, it hurts to think that she'll never be able to have a child, but at the same time...she never wanted to in the first place, not here, not with the way the world was. She wouldn't choose that, wouldn't subject a child to this, wouldn't be willing to try. Finding Madi was something else entirely, and she has never and will never regret it. In the end, she doesn't have to be able to have a child; one was gifted to her, a gift she'll always be thankful for. 

“Does it...upset you?” Bellamy asks her carefully. 

Clarke looks at him. “No, not really. I wouldn't want to have a child in that world. It never crossed my mind. Besides, I have Madi, and she's mine.” 

“Ours,” Bellamy corrects faintly. He frowns and drops to his back. “I never considered it, either. I don't think I'd want to have a child, so it's not really upsetting that I might not be able to.”

“If you were on the Ark?” Clarke prompts. 

Bellamy wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, probably not. I didn't really date, or even look at girls that much.” 

“What?” Clarke is the one who props up on her elbow this time, raising her eyebrows when he looks over at her in confusion. “You mean to tell me that  _ you  _ didn't have girlfriends on the Ark?” 

“Yeah, that's what I'm telling you.” Bellamy arches an eyebrow, amused. “Why is that so hard to believe?” 

“You're the guy who had multiple girls in your tent  _ at one time,”  _ Clarke says seriously. She smacks his shoulder when he snorts. “No, I'm serious. Girls fell all over themselves for you.” 

“You didn't,” Bellamy tells her, the words flying out so fast that they take her by surprise. 

Clarke stares at him for a moment, a little mortified to feel her cheeks heating up. “Well, to be fair, I was a little worried about keeping everyone alive, plus I was busy falling all over myself for Finn.” 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “No, you weren't. We remember things differently. You kicked him aside the moment you realized he had a girlfriend, and I know you loved him, but the  _ moment  _ you found out about Raven, you were done. You weren't in love with him, or your willpower has always been strong, because if you  _ were  _ in love with him, you would have forgiven him and let him choose you. But you didn't. So, no, you didn't fall all over yourself for Finn.” 

“Okay,” Clarke allows, clearing her throat, “so I wasn't falling all over myself for Finn. That just means I didn't like you back then, which we both know is true.” 

“I don't know,” Bellamy sing-songs, eyes crinkling when he grins broadly, “I think you liked me better than you liked Finn.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “Maybe, but it would be rude to say that because he's dead, so I won't.” 

“Fair enough,” Bellamy murmurs, chuckling. “You don't have to, I already know. But, back to the point, I didn't date girls because of Octavia. I had my hands full with her, and inviting some girl into my life could end badly if she ever followed me home one day. I kept my escapades to the bare minimum.” 

“But once you got to the ground…” 

“Sex and relationships are two different things, Clarke. The only girl I've ever truly,  _ genuinely  _ dated was Gina.” 

Clarke hums. “Yes, I know those are different things. You know Niylah and I…” 

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on it.” 

“Did you ever—I mean...anyone I knew?” 

“Well…” Bellamy cuts his gaze to her, looking a little chagrined. He clears his throat and reaches up to scratch his neck, a nervous gesture. “Raven, once.” 

“Raven?!” Clarke's eyes bulge and she nearly topples over as she scoots closer to peer into his eyes, her mouth dropping open. “You had sex with  _ Raven?  _ When was this? Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't  _ you  _ tell me? Was it good?” 

The questions come pouring out before she can stop them, and it's a stark reminder that they've relaxed so much over the years. If either of them had tried to tell her this before  _ Praimfaya,  _ she wouldn't have cared, would have waved them off, too focused on whatever task she was working on at the time. But here, now, she has the leisure and the ease of curiosity. 

The last question is pulled from her deep-rooted appreciation of the female body, and also because Raven is very beautiful and Clarke is  _ not  _ blind. Even still, she blushes a little when Bellamy looks at her in blatant amusement. 

“Yes, I had sex with Raven. Only one time. It was after her and Finn broke up, and she just wanted some good sex to help her move on. It didn't mean anything and we both knew it.” Bellamy makes a considering expression. “It was good, though. She's a scratcher.” 

Clarke has to cover her mouth to hold back the ridiculous giggles that threaten to bubble past her lips. She shakes her head. “Oh god, why does that make so much sense and why am I a little jealous?” 

“You can scratch me anytime you like,” Bellamy teases, waggling his eyebrows at her. 

“You got it the wrong way,” Clarke tells him dryly, snorting when he clicks his tongue. “Lexa wasn't a scratcher. For her to be a Commander, she was actually quite a gentle lover.” 

Bellamy makes a considering expression. “Huh. I honestly did not see that coming.” 

“Finn was practiced, you know? Him and Raven obviously had sex  _ a lot  _ because he knew what he was doing,” Clarke tells him. She waves her hand lazily when he arches an eyebrow. “I mean, obviously, I know there are some things he could have done better  _ now,  _ but we were young and he was my first everything, so.” 

“First  _ everything, _ huh?” Bellamy  _ tsks  _ and shakes his head. 

Clarke narrows her eyes at him. “What?” 

“Nothing.” He heaves a sigh and rolls over to look at her when she squints at him harder. “Okay, I just find it a little hard to believe that you never did anything with anyone on the Ark.” 

“I didn't.” 

“Not even Wells?” 

“Definitely not Wells,” Clarke says. “He was just my best friend. Maybe  _ he  _ wanted to, but I never did.” 

“So people were interested on the Ark, but you just never wanted them?” Bellamy asks. 

“Honestly, a lot of people treated me like shit because they thought I was privileged.” Clarke throws him a pointed look. “I didn't have a lot of friends because my mom was on the council, and anyone interested in me was either too scared to admit it, or they wanted to keep it some kind of secret. I just avoided it at all costs. It was better that way.” 

“Abstaining Princess,” Bellamy muses, not looking apologetic in the least. “Damn.” 

“Until Finn, yes,” Clarke admits shamelessly. 

Bellamy sighs and shakes his head. “If you're curious, Gina was the first person I ever cared about that I had sex with. I mean, Raven, but I cared about her  _ later.”  _

“Gina a scratcher, too?” 

“Biter, actually. Miller used to laugh at me for the marks on my neck, but Bryan would leave hickies all over his. He didn't like it. I don't think Jackson leaves hickies, so that's nice.” 

Clarke chuckles. “Yeah, I'm glad they have each other. Didn't see it coming, but as long as they're happy, then that's all that matters.” She glances over at Bellamy, pausing. “Did you love her? Gina, I mean.”

“I think so,” Bellamy admits with a frown. When he looks at her, his lips tip up into a sad smile. “I know I'm terrible for not knowing, but we—we didn't get enough  _ time.”  _ His throat clicks when he swallows thickly. “She was so good.  _ So  _ good, Clarke. Like, you can't even imagine how good and light she was. She made things easier when you were—”

He cuts himself off and looks away. 

“When I was gone,” Clarke finishes for him, old guilt rising to the surface. “I can never take that back.” 

“No, you can't,” Bellamy agrees softly. He still won't look at her. “I needed you, but you weren't there. She was, though. Gina was  _ always  _ there, and she made me happy, you know? She was too good for me.” 

Clarke reaches out and nudges his shoulder. “Hey, I never—I didn't know her, but I still could have… I didn't have the time or—or the  _ patience  _ to even try and check on you after. We were always separated, but I still should have done more.” 

“You always do more, Clarke.” 

“It's never enough.” 

Bellamy looks at her finally, the column of his throat bobbing. “There was nothing you could have done. She loved me, she was good, and she didn't survive. She deserved better than what she got, and she deserved better than a guy who still doesn't know if he was in love with her. But I think I made her happy, and I'll never regret that.” 

“Then I'll regret leaving less,” Clarke replies seriously, nodding. “If me being gone turned you to her, then it wasn't my biggest mistake. If—if she got you, and you had her, and you both had that happiness, then me being gone was worth it.” 

“Maybe I didn't really love her,” Bellamy whispers, looking ashamed, “because, even now, I can't agree. I still want you to stay, years later when you're not going anywhere.” 

“You loved her,” Clarke says, because she thinks, in his own way, he really did. “I just hurt you. Pain leaves a wound, love leaves a smile.” 

“Why?” Bellamy searches her gaze intently, and at first, she thinks he's asking her why love and pain linger differently, but he continues and this question is a lot worse than that. “Why did you walk away from me, Clarke?” 

The words make her throat clog with emotion, and Clarke rips her gaze from his. She feels like she's breathing through the hole of a needle, shallow and not nearly enough. It's been quite some time since guilt has drowned her this harshly, and it hurts just as much as she remembered. 

She closes her eyes and remembers the feeling of Bellamy's cheek beneath her lips. Remembers the way he'd given her forgiveness, a plea to stay the same way her forgiveness was, and she hadn't taken it. Remembers the pain twisting his face as she promised to bear it so they wouldn't have to, so  _ he  _ wouldn't have to, even if that turned out to help very little. Remembers walking away and forcing herself not to look back, knowing that one more look at him would turn her around, and each step carried her further from something she couldn't face. 

Clarke knows why. Even after all these years, the reasons are clear in her mind. She regrets going for more reasons than one, but there's always going to be a part of her that's glad she did. 

“I left because I had just killed over two hundred people with one tug of a lever,” Clarke rasps, looking over at him. “I left so I could see their faces in trees instead of the faces of my own people. I left so Dante Wallace could haunt me while I slept on the ground instead of while I slept across from my mother. I left so the ghosts of children wouldn't giggle through the halls I walked. I left so they had someone to blame because it was my fault, not yours, not Monty’s—I made that call,  _ me,  _ he just made it possible and you didn't make me do it alone. Bellamy, I  _ left  _ because I knew me staying would not let anyone heal, because I'll never heal from that, and that's on  _ me.”  _

Bellamy shakes his head. “No, I could have helped you, Clarke. We all could have. It wasn't easy for any of us, me and Monty especially. But we helped each other, and we would have helped you.” 

“That's another reason,” Clarke admits sadly. “I didn't deserve to be helped.” 

“I deserved better than you leaving me,” Bellamy tells her forcefully, and there are tears in his eyes now.

Clarke takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Yes, you did. I just didn't deserve to stay.” 

“I don't care if you burn down the entire world,” Bellamy whispers, holding her gaze, “you can never do that to me again, no matter what you think you deserve. You can't leave me again, Clarke. I'm not—I won't be able to handle that, not again. I can't do it again. It will  _ destroy  _ me, do you understand that?” 

“Bellamy…” Clarke blinks, feeling the stinging in her eyes spill over, and she surges forward awkwardly on the hood to get her arms around him. He shifts so that they're both sitting up, holding onto each other tightly. She closes her eyes and faces the first only choice she's had in years—this one, unlike the rest, isn't hard at all. “I promise, Bellamy, never again. I will  _ never  _ walk away from you like that again, okay?” 

Bellamy relaxes instantly, like he's spent the last years since she left waiting for her to do it again, but he trusts her word so strongly to let all of that go on one promise. All of the tension seeps out of his frame, and he presses his face into her shoulder, his warm breath wafting over her neck. 

She doesn't want to let go, wants to stay like this forever, because this has swiftly turned comforting and nice. You break a bone the first time, that pain is new and fresh and heals painfully; break it again, and you know what to expect. They've half-dealt with this once already, so going into it deeper now doesn't hurt as much as the first time. They push past it quicker, and this easier life they've had helps them to let it go, leaving them to simply bask in the embrace. 

Clarke doesn't want to let go, but it's stretching on for longer than necessary. She's becoming overly aware of the feeling of his fingers draping over her ribs from where his arms are wrapped all the way around her. She can feel too much, taking in the way his scruff brushes her neck, the way his chest rises and falls against hers, how his curls tickle her cheek. 

All of it entices her to hold on for longer, which is precisely why she forces herself to pull away. 

“Thank you,” Bellamy croaks when she does.

Clarke takes a steady breath and smiles, glancing towards the house. “Come on, we should go wake Madi. It's time for her lessons.”

As she slides off the hood of the Rover, Bellamy leans forward and catches her hand, looking at her with a furrow in his brow. “Clarke?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I won't leave you, either. You know that, right?” 

Clarke's heart does a funny twist in her chest, and she can't help the way her face softens. “I do now.” 

* * *

Bellamy sits in his favorite chair, the one he built with his own hands last year, and Madi tilts her head as she surveys him. With narrowed eyes, she turns back to her paper and begins drawing again. 

“Is she getting my nose right?” Bellamy asks. 

Clarke glances over Madi’s shoulder. “Much better than last time,” she admits, pointing at the cheek Madi hasn't defined yet. “Bring this line down in an arc and add some shadow. His jawline is stronger.” 

Madi smacks her teeth. “Bellamy, why is your face so damn hard to draw?” 

“Kiddo, you've asked that question about everything you've drawn,” Bellamy says in amusement. “So, with that in mind, I'm not going to take that as an insult.”

“No, you should,” Clarke says lightly, sharpening a knife with a small smile. 

Bellamy huffs. “Go float yourself.” 

“If you two don't stop,  _ I'm _ going to float myself,” Madi mutters. “Come on, I'm trying to focus.” 

“You heard her,” Clarke says easily. She smirks at Bellamy. “Shut up.” 

“Goes for you too, mom,” Madi says under her breath, rolling her eyes. She pauses, her cheeks going red, and she clears her throat. “Clarke.” 

Clarke shares a small smile with Bellamy, both of them ducking their heads a moment later to hide it. Sometimes, Madi will slip up and call them mom or dad, seemingly without even realizing it. Frankly, it never fails to make Clarke's chest burst with warmth, and Bellamy practically  _ melts  _ every time. 

For Madi, though, it seems to embarrass her and make her angry. She won't say it, but she hates the idea of dishonoring her actual parents by giving them those titles, even if she sees them that way. It's a lot different saying something out loud than just thinking it, and Clarke understands that. Neither her or Bellamy stop her from it, nor do they encourage her to do it, simply letting it happen when it does and never adding to her mixed feelings about it. 

“Ready to shave my face?” Bellamy asks, pushing right past the moment like it never happened, though his eyes are incredibly soft. 

Clark flicks the pad of her thumb against the knife, checking the dullness of it. “Yeah, this will work. You're going to have to hold still.” 

“Mhm.” Bellamy closes his eyes and tips his head back, holding out his arms. “Come, unburden me.” 

“I don't know  _ why  _ you're doing this,” Clarke mutters, even if she's smiling. She moves over to stand between his legs. “You're just going to let it grow back out.” 

Bellamy cracks open one eye. “It's hot outside. Like, extra hot. And it itches because it's a little too long. It's been a long time coming, actually. So, when it does grow back in, I will have missed it.” He shuts his eye again and smirks smugly. “Besides, I’ve heard I have a strong jawline, so I think I should show it off.” 

Madi giggles from her chair. 

“You're making me want to cut my hair,” Clarke mutters with a frown. “It's getting long again.”

“I like it both ways,” Bellamy offers calmly.

“Smart,” Madi whispers, amused. 

Bellamy holds out his hand and Madi automatically leans forward to give him a high-five. Clarke rolls her eyes at their antics, reaching down to grab the wooden bowl of salve she's created for this exact purpose, dipping her fingers in it to spread over Bellamy's face. It's sticky and goopy, but it gets the job done and will help her keep from nicking him with the knife, so it's worth it. 

“Okay, after this, you can cut my hair again,” Clarke says decidedly, watching his face for any reaction. 

Bellamy gives none, just says, “Sure.” 

Clarke mentally slaps herself, wondering when she started caring how he likes her hair or doesn't.  _ She  _ likes it short, so that's what's important. 

Clearing her throat, she sits aside the salve and wipes her hands on her pants, picking up the knife. She leans close, bending down to make sure she can get this right, careful not to cut him. She can see the details of his face clearly from up this close, the sun-kissed freckles, the indentations under his eyes, the slope of his nose, just...everything. 

“Feel free to start any time, Clarke.” 

Jolting, she blinks and coughs. “Right, sorry. Just be still and this will be over soon.” 

Bellamy's cheek twitches under the knife. “You make it sound like it's going to hurt.” 

“Stop talking, Bellamy.” 

Clarke puts her entire focus into scraping the knife down his cheek, cutting away his facial hair in neat lines. She has to lift her free hand to grip his chin to hold and guide him. The sound of the blade shushing over his skin is somehow mesmerizing, and she can feel the warmth of his face beneath her fingers. Slowly, the clumps of hair fall away, drifting down. 

She's going slower than necessary, but she doesn't fully realize it. Without meaning to, she gets a little too caught up in the angles of his face—looking at them instead of following them with the blade. She has to tilt his head back farther to get down his neck, and she ends up shifting to the side, her knees protesting the awkward way she's standing. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks when she blows out an explosive breath of frustration. 

Clarke grits her teeth. “I need to borrow your leg. Don't move while the knife is at your throat.” 

With that as her only warning, she ignores the alarm bells ringing in her head and fully just sits down in his lap, her legs propped up between his, leaning into him as she gets closer. He swallows, making her huff in annoyance and pull the knife away before it can nick him anywhere. 

He goes very still, holding one hand up in surrender, nonverbally apologizing for moving. Clarke ducks her head and squints, making sure she gets that first line cleanly, and once she's sure that she did, she starts the next. She treats this like it's the most important thing she's ever done, though it's far from it, and she absolutely does not think about anything else. 

Except, well, she kind of does. She notices that Bellamy is very warm, which doesn't come as a surprise, and neither does his chest being unnecessarily firm. Actually, nothing about him or his body surprises her; this is  _ not  _ new information, so she's not entirely sure why her mind is so intent on pointing certain things out—like how he smells, or how sturdy his leg is beneath her, or how sharp his jaw is as she slowly reveals it beneath the scruff. 

_ I know all of this,  _ she thinks furiously, telling her mind to get itself together.  _ I've literally drawn him. This nothing new, shut up about it.  _

Her mind does not shut up. 

So, what should take about ten minutes at most ends up tripled because Clarke is having a hard time getting this done quickly. She has to try extra hard not to accidentally cut him, forcing herself to pay attention to the drag of the knife rather than the feeling of his cheek beneath her fingers. 

Is she touch-starved? Is that what this is? No, that's impossible. It literally doesn't make any sense whatsoever. She gets contact from Madi and Bellamy all the time, so it's not like she's desperate for it or anything. In fact, her and Bellamy, specifically, have grown way more affectionate over the years. Not that they didn't have fleeting moments of affection before, but they're much more frequent. 

Honestly, if Bellamy hasn't kissed her forehead in, like, three days, that's when she knows something is up. If they don't hold hands at least once every day, then there's definitely something wrong. And that's fine, no big deal, completely normal for their situation as two best friends alone in the world with no one else but the child they're raising together. 

Makes complete sense to her, anyway. 

This? This does not. This is just...weird. Then again, she doesn't usually shave his face. Normally, he just trims it and keeps it up himself as best he can. All she does for him is cut his hair when he deems it too long, the curls getting too heavy and turning into long waves that actually don't look too terrible, admittedly. Actually, his hair looks nice both ways. 

Clarke lets out a sigh of relief when she's finished, fumbling with the cloth hanging around his shoulders to lift a clean corner and wipe away the remainder of the salve. She pulls back slightly to inspect her work, and Bellamy's eyes open. 

“Did you finish?” he asks. 

She doesn't answer him at first, a little stunned to see him clean-shaven. It's been a while, and she really sees the full brunt of his jawline like this. For once, she doesn't itch to draw it, but her fingers do twitch with a different urge. No, thank you, she will not be reaching up to touch his jaw, what the  _ fuck?  _

Unclogging her throat with a forceful cough, she nods. “Yeah, all done. Jawline back online.” 

“Thanks.” Bellamy smiles at her, a crooked little smile that makes him look younger, just like he used to when he was marching around the dropship, overly cocky and not aged with mistakes. “Do I look like myself again?” 

“You always look like yourself,” Clarke mutters grudgingly, slightly annoyed by that. She hasn't looked at her reflection and felt like she looked the same in years. 

“Okay, correction, did you miss the clean face?” Bellamy suggests instead, fully grinning at her now. 

Clarke can feel his hand settled on the small of her back, but she's not entirely sure when it got there, just like she has no idea why she hasn't gotten up yet. She flicks her gaze over his face, considering his question seriously. It's hard to say because she hadn't hated the scruff, though she definitely likes it clean. Maybe an easy medium—a five o'clock shadow, perhaps. Or, actually, she can't really have an opinion on this since she doesn't have a preference. 

She means to tell him that she doesn't care either way, but what comes out is, “I like it both ways.”

Bellamy's smile softens from a bright grin to a different crooked grin, one that's a lot sweeter than she's prepared for, and she's powerless to stop her responding smile that stretches across her face. She feels fairly warm, and his hand is still on her back, and his eyes are actually really pretty now that she's looking into them.

“Okay, I'm done!” Madi suddenly announces. 

Clarke launches herself from Bellamy's lap so fast that she nearly trips. He has to snap his hands out to grab her waist, steadying her with rapidly blinking eyes, but she's already pulling away. She goes over to Madi, looking at her with her eyebrows raised. 

“How'd it turn out?” Clarke asks. 

“Did she get my nose right?” Bellamy asks, running his hand over his face as Clarke takes the drawing Madi offers her. 

Clarke stares down at the drawing in confusion, then a wash of understanding hits her as she realizes what she's looking at. Madi had, in fact, drawn Bellamy where he was, but she'd also taken it upon herself to hastily add Clarke to the picture. Due to where Clarke was at the time in real life, Madi had translated it to paper based on that. So, in the drawing, Clarke is sitting on Bellamy's lap, holding his face with one hand and pressing a knife to his throat with the other. 

Since Madi couldn't draw the salve and she struggles with facial hair, she didn't properly translate that Clarke is shaving his face, so it just looks like Clarke is pressing a knife to his throat with a soft smile while Bellamy has his eyes closed, smiling just as gently. Though, to be fair, Madi did a really good job. 

Clarke clears her throat. “Uh, yeah, she got your nose right.” She hands the picture back to Madi. “This is really good, Madi. You're getting much better.”

Madi beams. “I'm going to hang it up inside,” she declares happily, bursting from her seat. 

“Did she really get my nose right?” Bellamy checks, narrowing his eyes after Madi as she runs inside. 

Clarke huffs a slightly delirious laugh. “Yes, she actually did get your nose right this time. She also managed to add me in the picture. Fair warning, it looks like I'm about to slit your throat, and both of us seem to be very happy about it.” 

Bellamy blinks. “I'm sorry, what?” 

“Yeah.” Clarke gestures to the door. “Go see for yourself. You'll see what I mean.” 

Tugging the cloth around his shoulders away, he stands and heads inside, still stroking his shaved face. Moments later, she hears his booming laughter, and she can't help but join in. 

He pokes his head out a moment later, amusement dancing in his eyes. “So, what's the saying about life imitating art? Should I be worried?” 

“Stop it,” Clarke scolds, barely restraining laughter of her own. “She doesn't see the difference.” 

“Or,” Bellamy suggests, “we just can't help but see the violence.” 

Clarke snorts. “There's that, which I'm inclined to believe. But, honestly, that's hard to misinterpret.” 

“It's abstract,” Bellamy teases. 

“Art doesn't work like that,” Clarke tells him because she has a feeling it doesn't. “Don't tease her about it, just let her have this.  _ We  _ know what it means, and to her, the drawing means something special.” 

Bellamy chuckles. “We need more things that mean something special, I think.” 

“More possessions could be nice,” Clarke agrees with a grin, watching him eye her speculatively. “Nice, little keepsakes that we couldn't misinterpret.”

“No knives to the throat,” Bellamy muses. 

“God,” Clarke mutters with a laugh, “let's hope not.” 

He shuffles outside, raising his eyebrows, still obviously amused. “Don't tell me you're worried you'll put a knife to my throat someday, Princess. I'm definitely not.” 

“Maybe I will,” Clarke shoots back, her mouth running away from her before she can even try and stop it, continuing on to say, “but only if you ask very nicely.” 

“Okay, well, now I'm worried you  _ won't,”  _ Bellamy quips, rolling with it and laughing. He shakes his head at her and waves his fingers, asking for the knife she's still holding onto. “Come on, hand it over. If we're going to be flirting, I would prefer it to exclude danger rather than invite it to join. I'm a ‘flirt-with-one-at-a-time’ kinda guy.” 

Clarke quirks an eyebrow and holds the knife out hilt-first, gripping the blade lightly. “Really? I would have assumed you could multitask.” 

“You're in a mood today,” Bellamy notes, chuckling as he grabs the dagger. He flips the knife, catching it effortlessly and slipping it back into his boot where it came from in the first place, winking at her as he does. “Alright, you've had your fun, but playtime is over. We have to start training soon, or the rain will run us back inside.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes at him. “Whatever happened to the guy who encouraged fun? Mr. Whatever The Hell We Want, who? Miss him right about now.” 

“Get me drunk, and we'll talk,” Bellamy says with a snort, turning in the doorway to yell into the house. “Madi, it's time! We need to train before it rains!” 

Clarke barely hears him, or Madi’s resounding groan, too focused on a possibly stupid idea. 

Stupid ideas can be fun, though. 

* * *

“So, why exactly can't we tell Bellamy what we're doing?” Madi asks as she kneels down beside Clarke and gathers the fruit that's been pointed out to her. 

Clarke glances at her. “Because it's a surprise.” 

“Is it his birthday?” 

“No, it's just something nice for him, that's all.” 

“Did he do something nice for you?” Madi asks. 

Clarke sighs and puts down her satchel, looking over at Madi who has been asking questions nonstop this whole trip. “Madi, Bellamy and I do nice things for each other all the time.”

“No, you don't. I've never seen him surprise you with something nice before.” 

“Maybe not with something physical like this, but he's done a lot of nice things for me.” 

“Like what?” Madi murmurs, staring at her. 

“Like...well, he's always there for me when I need someone to talk to. When I have bad dreams, I wake him up and he stays awake with me. He gives me extra venus berries, even though they're his favorite, because he knows they're mine.” Clarke smiles slightly, shaking her head. “And, you know, we did have experiences before you showed up. He's saved my life plenty of times. You know, nice things.” 

“Yeah, but it's not the same as this,” Madi insists, gesturing to their respective satchels. “Don't you want him to make something for you?” 

“Like what?” Clarke shoots back pointedly. 

Madi shrugs. “I don't know. Something nice? You know he can build really well.” 

Clarke considers that. “I mean, sure. But there's not a lot that he can give me that won't get lost or broken with the kind of things we do. Maybe something I could wear? But honestly, Madi? I don't really need anything nice from him to return the favor.” 

“I'll be right back,” Madi says, standing up. “I left my damn gun at the house!” 

“What? You—Madi!” Clarke gapes at Madi’s rapid retreat, blinking in shock. She huffs down at her satchel and shakes her head. “Sure, fine, guess I'll do this all by myself. 

Getting Bellamy drunk is taking a lot more work than she thought it would. She wishes Jasper were here to give her pointers on how to do this, or she wishes she could radio Monty for advice. She  _ knows,  _ technically, the right way to do it. It's just the getting it done part that's taking more time than she likes. 

Madi, the traitor, doesn't come back, so Clarke has to redouble her efforts to gather the right ingredients. She needs just enough to get herself and Bellamy properly buzzed, to give themselves the chance to actually let loose a little bit. Not that they have problems to escape now, but they still struggle to have fun after all this time. 

This will be good for them. 

She spends the rest of her day getting what she needs and works well into the night, barely even noticing that it's past dark when she finally finishes her first batch. She takes one sip to try it and realizes that the mixture of callisto and venus berries were a good choice—she can't believe she's actually calling them that now. Still, even with the berries, the drink makes her cough and blink hard, pulling the canteen back to stare at it in surprise. 

Okay, stronger than she expected, but at least she won't have to make  _ more.  _ Small mercies. 

Clarke makes it back to the Village way later than normal, but nowhere close to the time her and Bellamy usually head to bed, though Madi is already inside from what she can tell. Bellamy's at his worktable, and his head snaps up when he hears her coming up from behind him. 

“Hey,” he says easily. “I was just about to start getting worried. Get lost?” 

“Something like that.” Clarke jerks her chin at the worktable. “Working on something? You don't usually work past dark.” 

“I just finished, actually.” Bellamy quirks a small smile at her and heads over to one of the tables. She follows him and sinks into the open spot beside him, the canteen clinking in her satchel. “I feel like I haven't seen you all day. It's been a while since we've spent a whole day away from each other.” 

“And you're not tired of me yet?” Clarke jokes, amused. 

Bellamy sits his head in his hand and clicks his tongue, smiling at her. “Not just yet, but we were getting there. Ten more minutes and I was about to lose it.”

“Mm, I guess it's a good thing we spent all day apart then,” Clarke tells him, copying his motion and putting her chin in her hand. 

“How was your day?” Bellamy asks, and he sounds genuinely curious, invested in what she's done. 

He wants to know because he usually knows by proximity. He didn't see it with his own eyes, so he wants her to tell him, wants the details, wants to know how she felt when she did whatever she did. What she could say in a sentence, he'll be happy to hear spread out over an hour—locked in and listening intently. She  _ knows  _ that, and yet, it still makes her feel amused and appreciated in a really weird way. 

_ He missed you,  _ is what her mind tells her, and she brushes it off. 

“Long,” she says finally. “I was gathering a lot of supplies—mostly just fruit and plants. Oh, I also got into a fight with one of those squirrel-rabbit looking things that kept getting into my satchel when I was away, so I  _ nearly  _ had us dinner.” 

“Couldn't catch it?” 

“Almost had the trigger pulled, but it ran up into the trees and out of sight, so I let it go.” 

“They are pretty fast,” Bellamy allows, nodding against his palm, never taking his eyes off of her. “So, what else? Was that it? Just gathering supplies and fighting with annoying animals?” 

“Pretty much.” Clarke snorts and grins at him. She can't help but ask, though she makes it a joke. “Why, Bellamy, did you  _ miss  _ me?” 

Bellamy doesn't even bat an eye. “Sure. I'm used to having you around, you know.” 

“Well,” Clarke says quietly, “I promise you it was worth it. I, uh, actually made something for you.” 

“For me?” Bellamy blinks rapidly, lifting his head out of his palm and staring at her in surprise. “You made me something? When? Why?” 

Clarke reaches out to dig in her satchel and watches him warily. “I mean, it's more for you than me, but we can share it. You're the one who gave me the idea, and I figured it can't really hurt, plus it's been a while since either of us have actually  _ fully  _ relaxed in probably literal years, so I figured that—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts, making her slam her mouth shut. He smiles at her and holds his hand out expectantly. “What did you do?” 

Sheepishly, she brings out the canteen, handing it to him with a nervous chuckle. “So, it's not much, but it's—well, I don't know. You said something about getting drunk to have a little fun, and I thought it could give us a night where we don't care about  _ anything,  _ you know? And—and maybe we don't deserve that, but I made it anyway, just in case.” 

“You, Clarke Griffin, spent your entire day outside figuring out how to make hooch all because I  _ hinted  _ at wanting to get drunk?” Bellamy asks her slowly. 

When he puts it like that, she realizes how stupid it sounds. “Sorry, you don't have to—” 

“You're perfect,” Bellamy cuts her off, taking the canteen and removing the lid. He sniffs it, tipping his head from side-to-side in obvious consideration, then tosses back a hefty swallow without preamble. 

“Good?” Clarke asks in amusement, already knowing how it tastes. 

Bellamy makes an  _ nnghh  _ sound, pressing his hand to his chest as he tries to hold in his coughs, blinking slow and hard. He passes it over to her with a quiet huff. “It's, ah...a bit strong.”

“Take it slow,” Clarke offers, taking the canteen and drinking a manageable gulp down. It burns a little, but it's not quite a kick to the chest. 

“Will do,” Bellamy chokes out around a second swallow when she hands it back over. He sniffs hard, then turns to beam at her. “It makes me warm, and it's actually pretty sweet. What did you use to flavor this?” 

“Venus berries,” Clarke admits with a sigh, rolling her eyes as he smirks. “But, really, the secret to the taste were the callisto berries. Made it just right.” 

Bellamy nods and takes another gulp, this time only wheezing a little. “Well, you're not the only one who decided to dedicate your whole day doing something for someone else.” 

“What'd you do?” 

“I  _ might  _ have made you something.” 

Clarke frowns at him. “Made me—oh, did Madi get ahold of you?” 

“Actually, I sent Madi to figure out what I could make for you,” Bellamy tells her with a small laugh. He grins when she huffs. “You mentioned it'd be nice to have a keepsake or something, so I… Well, I figured you were right. Madi let me know you said you wanted something to wear, maybe.” 

“She really is a traitor,” Clarke deadpans, shaking her head and sighing heavily. 

Bellamy barks a loud laugh and leans back, reaching into his pants pocket to pull something out. “No, she was actually pretty excited about you getting something pretty to wear, as she put it. She helped me for a little bit before she ran off to go do her own thing.” 

“She was supposed to be helping  _ me,  _ but okay,” Clarke mutters, squinting and moving a little closer to try and see what he's holding onto. 

“Here, come next to the fire,” Bellamy says easily, pulling away from the table and leading her to the firepit they have logs expertly placed around. He waits until she's sitting next to him to open his hand and let her see. “It's not perfect or anything, but you can wear it on your wrist. It has our names cut into the inside, and it ties around like this.” 

Clarke halts him from putting it on, reaching out to take it with a small furrow in her brow. It's a bracelet with tiny, flat square pieces of wood all the way around it, a long strip of leather beneath the wood, woven around so it won't dig into her wrist. She rubs her finger over the names on the inside of the leather,  _ Bellamy Madi Clarke.  _

“Bellamy, how did you make this?” Clarke asks softly, her throat strangely tight for some reason. 

“Oh, you know.” Bellamy shrugs like it's no big deal. He pokes the wood. “I just cut out the wood squares with my knife and made sure no pieces were sticking out. Found the leather strip from one of the other houses, which is good because making it would have taken longer. So, I just laid the strip down, put the wood pieces on it, cut some of the leather strip to link the pieces together, carved our names to the inside, added strings on the end, and boom, done. Easy.” 

“Easy,” Clarke echoes faintly. “It took you all day.”

“Whittling takes a while. Just time consuming, but not hard.” Bellamy flicks his gaze down to the bracelet, eyeing her cautiously. “If you don't want—” 

“I'm never taking it off,” Clarke declares seriously, holding out her wrist and the bracelet. She stares at him without blinking. 

Bellamy's lips curl up and he ducks his head like he's trying not to show how pleased he is that he's done something so nice. He reaches out with careful fingers and wraps the entirely unique bracelet around her wrist, giving it some breathing room, not too loose and not too tight—though he does tie it off fairly tight, making sure it won't just slip off. 

She shakes her wrist, watching it slide back and forth, a little snug around her arm, a new but welcome feeling. She brushes her thumb over it with a small smile while Bellamy looks away and takes a deep gulp from the canteen, coughing after he does. 

For the first time, Clarke sees the irony in the situation. It's almost like they're making a mockery of their past selves, or highlighting how far they've come. The people they were when they first touched the ground would have  _ never  _ done something like this. Clarke, wasting a whole day she could be using to do something else to make a way for them—but mostly  _ him,  _ especially—to get drunk just for the sake of fun. Bellamy, serious and intently focused on making something small for one person—for her—and it's just something so thoughtful and  _ kind.  _

“Hey, Clarke,” Bellamy says suddenly, looking over at her with a frown. 

“Hmm?” 

“Just, uh, how strong  _ is  _ this stuff?” 

Clarke grins. “Starting to feel it?” 

“Feeling something,” Bellamy muses. He knocks his leg into hers, peering into the fire. “Thank you for this, by the way. It's—it's really nice.” 

“So is this,” Clarke murmurs, fiddling with her bracelet pointedly. “I love it, thank you.” 

“Should I make something for Madi?” 

“I think so. I'm planning to take some venus berries and figure out how to dye her hair for her birthday. She's been taking an interest in things like that. I saw her drawing dresses the other day—me and her in them, both, so I'll see what I can do out here to let her play dress-up and have fun, you know?” 

“That sounds nice,” Bellamy mumbles with a small grin. When he looks over at her, she can see the flush in his face where the fire dances and casts light over him. “You in a dress sounds nice, too.” 

Clarke laughs, shaking her head. “Might want to slow down on the hooch there, Bellamy. It's got you talking a little crazy.” 

“What if I could make a dress?” Bellamy asks, leaning towards her to stare at her intently, pressing his shoulder against hers. “We got the cloth for it, and m’not saying it would be  _ perfect  _ dresses, but I could probably make ‘em for you and Madi.” 

“Madi would appreciate that, I think,” Clarke mumbles, taking a gulp of drink and avoiding Bellamy's gaze. 

“Would you?” 

“Mm, it honestly doesn't matter to me. I'll have to shave my legs, though, and do you have any idea how hard that is to do with a knife?”

“Not a clue,” Bellamy admits with a laugh. 

Clarke smiles at him, feeling a little warm in her chest and stomach, her mind utterly calm. “Consider yourself lucky, Bellamy.” 

“Just don't shave ‘em.” 

“Can't wear a dress with hairy legs, Bellamy. You just  _ can't,  _ ya know?” 

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “You completely can. That's an option. ‘Sides, no one else is here but me and Madi, and what do we care?” 

“Ya know?” Clarke holds up the canteen and laughs freely, swaying a little. “You're completely right.” 

“Oh hoo, Clarke Griffin is a little drunk everybody,” Bellamy announces grandly, declaring this to the quiet forest around them. 

_ “Me?”  _ Clarke makes a  _ pfft  _ sound. “Bellamy, you've been drunk for, like, a lot longer.” 

“Okay, so, fine. Say I'm drunk, say  _ you're  _ drunk, and who do we have to thank for that?” Bellamy raises his eyebrows and smiles at her, leaning over to sit his chin on her shoulder, face crinkling up from the force of his happy grin. “You, Princess. You have all my thanks. All of them.” 

Clarke hums and leans into him, closing her eyes and releasing a happy sigh. “One of my better ideas.” 

“Mhm.” He lifts his head up, peering at her with a warm gaze, his eyes a little glassy. “You know you're my best friend, right? And that—that I wouldn't have made it this far without you, and I'm so lucky to have you out of all the people in the world.” 

“I dunno,” Clarke murmurs, letting her head flop over onto his shoulder, sliding her arm through his and twining their fingers together. “I think all of that is true in reverse, actually. Maybe m’biased, but I don't really think so.” She hiccups. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Bellamy Blake.” 

Bellamy squeezes her hand, lifting the canteen and drinking some more. Clarke copies him when he passes it to her, closing her eyes and fiddling with her bracelet and his fingers with her free hand when he has a hold of the canteen they're sharing. The fire is warm, and Clarke is warm, and Bellamy is great to lean on, and she's willing to stay here all night, or maybe forever. 

They talk some more, giggling like children as they get drunker, laughing about old memories and reminiscing on lost friends. It doesn't hurt, it feels nice, and Clarke feels completely weightless and untouched by sadness for the first time in many,  _ many  _ years. Bellamy's mood seems to be soaring, and he even convinces her to get up and dance with him, their bodies swaying beside the fire. 

Clarke's a little dizzy from it, but the good kind. She rests her cheek against his chest and hums quietly, letting him pull her in circles, blissfully basking in the carefree moment. She can feel his arms around her, his lips pressed to her hair or forehead, and that's just as well. It's all so, so nice. 

That night, they stumble to bed with Madi snoring away in her own, and this time, they don't give the pretenses of sleeping apart. They just curl up together from the start, tangling their heavy limbs and shushing each other between laughs, drifting off in the other's arms. Clarke falls asleep with her smile pressed to Bellamy's throat. 

It's the best sleep she's had in years. 

* * *

Madi comes home bleeding, her hand cupping her side as she stumbles into the Village. Clarke doesn't notice at first, kicking up on one of the tables, talking casually to Raven on the radio. Bellamy doesn't notice, either, cleaning his gun beside her while putting his input into the one-sided conversation every now and again. 

Then, Madi chokes out, “Clarke, Bellamy.” 

Clarke instantly knows something is wrong, dropping the radio and surging up from the table before she's even laid eyes on Madi. Bellamy abandons his taken-apart gun in favor of grabbing the one that's at the ready right next to him, and he whirls around at the same time Clarke does.

Black blood pours through Madi’s fingers, her face entirely too pale, and she sways lightly in place. She doesn't come any closer, just staring at them with her expression twisted with pain. Clarke is running before she even realizes it, her feet and Bellamy's pounding against the ground as they rush over before skidding to a stop in front of her. 

Clarke hits her knees instantly. “What is it? Let me see? What happened, Madi?” 

“It—it was an accident,” Madi chokes out, tears brimming in her eyes. “I thought something was in one of Bellamy's traps, so I went to check. The ground wasn't stable there, and it gave way to a hill. I fell, Clarke, right on my spear.” 

“Okay,” Clarke says calmly, her hands shaking violently as she reaches out to skate her fingers over Madi’s hand that presses tight in her side. “Madi, we're going to take you inside and lay you down. Don't let go, okay? Keep—keep pressure there.” 

Madi nods, sniffling a little as Bellamy automatically dips down to gingerly pick her up. The motion still makes her cry out, but she keeps pressure like Clarke ordered her to. “I had to crawl my way up, then—then come back here. It  _ hurts.”  _

“I know,” Clarke breathes, blinking back tears as she walks beside Bellamy, who's carrying Madi inside with his eyebrows drawn together. “I know it hurts, Madi, but you did good. You came home, and now I'm going to fix you. I promise.” 

Madi leans her head over on Bellamy's shoulder, her eyes closing. She looks exhausted. “My spear broke off inside me. I left it in there. Is that good?” 

Clarke shares a look with Bellamy. “Yes, Madi, that's good. Stay awake for us, okay? Don't go to sleep.” 

“It hurts,” Madi mumbles again. 

“I know it does.” Clarke holds open the door to the house as Bellamy carries Madi to the table and sits her down. With a deep breath, she walks over and swallows thickly, looking down at Madi. “Unfortunately, it's about to hurt a lot worse, and I'm sorry, but—but I need you to stay awake, okay? You can't go to sleep, do you understand?” 

Madi stares up at her, eyes wide. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It just happened, and I couldn't stop it.” 

Tears flood Clarke's eyes. She nods and smiles tightly, brushing Madi’s sweaty hair from her face. “That's how it goes. That's how it always goes, every time.” 

It takes everything in Clarke to get a grip, to shove aside her emotions and go to work, but she does. She doesn't have a choice. Madi needs her right now, and she won't let anything stop her from being there for her, not even herself. 

“What do you need?” Bellamy asks gruffly. 

“Boiled water, regular water, as much cloth you can find, the plants from the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, a knife, needle with thread, and—” Clarke stops, swallowing thickly as she stares into Bellamy's eyes. “—and something for Madi to bite down on.” 

Bellamy's jaw clenches, but he nods and leaves to go get it ready. Clarke takes a deep breath and looks down at Madi, smoothing her hair from her face. Madi looks scared, her chin trembling as tears fall from the corners of her eyes.

“I don't want to die, Clarke.” 

“You won't.” 

Madi sniffles and laughs weakly, the sound there-and-gone before Clarke can appreciate it. “You and Bellamy are never letting me go anywhere alone again, are you? That's the first thing I thought when I realized what happened, that you two were going to follow me around everywhere now.” 

“Can you blame us?” Clarke asks softly, laughing wetly when Madi smiles. She shakes her head and wipes Madi’s tears. “No, we—we won't try and smother you, but cut us some slack. We love you, and we just—we worry, that's all.”

“I know,” Madi whispers. “I love you, too. Both of you.  _ So much.  _ I never—I didn't ever thank either of you for...for taking me in, but—” 

“No, hey, stop that,” Clarke cuts her off, reaching down to cradle her cheeks. “Don't do that. I know what it's like to say things because you're scared you'll never get the chance, but Madi, you're going to be fine. I've handled worse situations, okay?” 

Madi makes a small sound, her face screwing up as she starts crying all over again. “I—I haven't been scared to die in a long time, and I just… It's so  _ scary.  _ How did you and Bellamy do it for all those years?” 

“Well, you know what you felt when you climbed the hill and forced yourself to get back home?” Clarke asks in a croak. Madi nods slowly. “Along with the fear, we felt that. All the time, every day. And it—it got us through it.” 

“Survival instincts,” Madi whispers. 

Clarke nods. “That's all it ever was for any of us. We all just...tried to survive. That's the secret.” 

“Not all of you did.” 

_ “You  _ will.” 

Bellamy bursts back into the house, making Clarke look over at him. His arms are ladened with supplies, and he has that determined look on his face he wears when he's forcing himself to push through his feelings and do what needs to be done. He nods at Clarke, sitting things down beside her, then darts off to go grab the medicine before returning.

“The water is boiling,” Bellamy tells her shortly. He holds up a rolled up piece of cloth, his throat bobbing as he glances at Madi. “This is for her to—to—” 

Clarke reaches out to steady his trembling hand, slowly peeling the cloth from his grip. “I'm going to need your help, Bellamy.” 

“Okay,” he says simply, blinking hard. 

“Here, Madi,” Clarke murmurs gently, hovering the cloth over her mouth. “Bite down on this. It—it will help a little. When I tell you to, move your hand.” 

Madi takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, reaching up with her free hand to grab the cloth and stuff it in her mouth. She nods frantically, her chest rising and falling as she breathes heavily through her nose. 

“What do you need me to do?” Bellamy rasps. 

Clarke exhales slowly. “For right now, hold Madi’s hand.” She waits for him to take it, then turns her focus to Madi’s other one. “Okay, Madi, let me see.”

After a beat, Madi moves her hand away with a small grunt, her pale pink fingers stained with black. Clarke carefully peels her shirt over the spearhead jutting out from Madi’s side, breathing shakily in relief when she sees that it's not too deep. Madi hasn't lost too much blood by the looks of it, and this will be a fairly simple procedure, at least compared to anything else she's ever had to do. 

It's just going to hurt. A lot. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy says softly, “you can do this.” 

That settles her a bit, and she clears her throat, nodding to herself. “Okay. Okay. Madi, sweetheart, I'm going to have to pull the—the spear out, and it's going to hurt very badly, but you have to try and keep still. You shouldn't bleed too much, so we'll press down and stem the blood flow, then we have to stitch you up, okay? If—if you pass out, that's fine.” 

Madi nods and holds Bellamy's hand tight. Clarke gestures for him to hold her still, which he does instantly, clenching his jaw and nodding when Clarke grabs the spearhead. 

Breathing out, she pulls it free carefully. It's not very deep at all, not as deep as she's seen some people's impaled objects go. Madi goes stiff, straining and screaming around the cloth she bites down on, and Clarke forces herself to keep going, to press down on the wound with cloth despite the way Madi’s muffled cries reverberate in her head. 

Distantly, Clarke can hear Bellamy murmuring sweet-nothings to Madi, soothing her. 

She gets through the rest by simple motion-memory. It's like she checks out, retreating into herself to get this done, blocking out everything else. She stitches Madi back together with shaking hands, crying the whole time without even seeming to realize it. The litany of Madi’s whimpers and cries are in tune with the soothing rumble of Bellamy's voice, backdropped by the pop of a needle pressing through skin. 

And then it's over. Or, well, the battle is half-won, anyway. They still have to keep a close eye to make sure she doesn't get infected, and she won't feel up to moving around for a few days, but it's done. 

Clarke breathes out slowly and reaches out to tug the cloth from Madi’s mouth, and all she does is blink and croak, “That fucking sucked.” 

Bellamy and Clarke both release shaky, relieved laughter, folding in closer to press their faces against her hands or shoulders or cheeks. Clarke cries a little, gripping Madi’s hand tight, and Bellamy kisses Madi’s forehead with his eyes closed. It's a tender, exhausted moment that stretches between them, and Clarke feels it all the way down to her bones. 

“I'm going to make you something that will help you sleep and might make the pain better,” Clarke murmurs, forcing herself to pull back. 

Madi nods.  _ “Muchof, nomon,”  _ she whispers. 

“You're welcome,” Clarke replies, heading outside with those words bouncing around in her head.  _ Thank you, mom.  _

Clarke has to take a moment, bracing her hands against the table after pouring some boiling water into a wooden bowl and letting the plant seep into it. She bows her head and grips the side of the table as she just  _ breathes.  _

She forgot. Somehow, along the way, she forgot what this felt like. Forgot this ache in her chest and heavy weight on her shoulders, the worry and the gnawing feeling that things could go wrong at a moment's notice. Forgot the breathlessness that comes with panicking for someone she loves, that shield in her mind crumbling under the pressure of having to do things she wishes she didn't. Forgot how screams can burrow under skin and haunt her thoughts, forgot the warmth of blood on her hands, forgot the layout of the box she shoved all her emotions into to push through and do what had to be done. 

She forgot. 

Remembering is painful. 

Hands suddenly slide over her shoulders, gentle and warm, and Clarke lashes out before she even knows what she's doing. Arms come around her from behind, one locking around her stomach, the other braced on her shoulder—a hand coming forward to grip her forehead. She struggles, gasping in raspy breaths, her eyes blurry from tears. 

“Clarke, it's me.  _ Clarke,”  _ Bellamy whispers roughly in her ear, shushing her and holding her tighter. 

Like a switch flips, all the fight drains from her, and she sags back against him. A sob wrangles its way from her throat, broken and choked, and Bellamy holds her up. He curls around her back, pressing his face to her hair, murmuring words she can't hear. 

Clarke knows for a fact that she never used to break like this, not very often and only for the heaviest things. Logically, this isn't as bad as anything else—a simple wound that she fixed, no lingering danger, no one's life on the cusp of ending. They're all fine, Bellamy is fine,  _ Madi is fine.  _ And yet, she can't seem to feel that so deeply, can't seem to relax. 

It could have gone so differently, and it's Madi. It's her child, her and Bellamy's  _ child,  _ and she can't fathom the thought—

No. Clarke won't let anything happen to her, not ever, and she knows Bellamy won't either. That's the only thing that gets her through this moment, that allows her to pull herself together and stand on her own feet. She stops leaning on Bellamy, and she forces herself to turn around in his arms and let him lean on  _ her.  _ Wordlessly, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets him bury his face into her shoulder, lets him tremble in her grasp. 

They can be strong for each other, that is what they do, what they've always done. She's his rock, and he's hers—the head and the heart, needing each other in a simple cycle that won't ever break. 

“I need you, and you need me, and we need her,” Clarke whispers, brushing her fingers over his hair. 

If they're the head and the heart, then Madi is the blood, the thing they work for, the thing they can't do without. Coexisting in one union, relying on each other, working together. They're a  _ family.  _

“We've gotten so soft,” Bellamy croaks with a weak chuckle, pulling away from her and swiping at his cheeks. “Look at us, a blubbering mess when Madi is going to be perfectly fine.” 

Clarke smiles at him. “She is, but that doesn't mean this was easy. Maybe we're soft now, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. I'm glad we can be a mess because there may come a day we won't be able to.” 

Bellamy nods at her and reaches up to push a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “It's going to be okay. We're okay, so it's all okay.” 

Clarke leans into his hand and closes her eyes, feeling his fingers drift down her cheek. It's a soft, intimate touch, and it helps her breathe. “Bellamy, I don't know what I would do without you. I just—I have no idea how I could have done this on my own.”

“You would have because you're you, and you are strong.” Bellamy sighs softly and draws her into him, letting them lean on each other at the same time. She presses her face to his chest and feels his palm cup the back of her head. “It doesn't matter. That's another world. In this one, you have me, and I have you, and we're better today than we were yesterday. After everything, I'm proud of us. I really am.” 

“Me too,” Clarke whispers. His lips press against the crown of her head. “Thank you, Bellamy.” 

“Anything for you, Princess,” Bellamy murmurs fondly, and she knows he means it. 

Clarke holds onto him and thinks  _ I love you, I love you, I love you so much,  _ like a floodgate just burst open in her mind, urging the words to rise up her throat. She swallows them back down, holding them inside, knowing them like she's known them for a long time, even if she's never acknowledged it. 

It's too much, and she can't deal with it, not now. She only has the capacity to shove it away and handle this, the feeling of them holding each other, their child sleeping peacefully inside. 

She doesn't start thinking about it. 

She doesn't, not when they go inside and check on Madi, not when they move her to her bed and make her drink, not when they keep vigil at her bedside, not even when they crawl into bed together later that night, spent and frazzled, forgoing their usual distance to wrap up close together and sleep. 

She doesn't start to think about it when the days pass and Madi gets better. Not when they start training again, or they get drunk once more, or when she fiddles with her bracelet mindlessly. Not the first time Madi goes out on her own again, or when she returns home safely, both of them relieved. Not even when he holds her hand, or holds  _ her,  _ or presses his lips to her hair or forehead. She doesn't begin thinking about it as the fourth year comes to a close, slipping away like a lost dream. 

She doesn't start thinking about how much she loves him, because it's always there, a steady beat in her chest that reminds her every second of every day with every inhale and every exhale. 

She doesn't start, because she never stops. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we liking it so far? One down, one to go bahaha. Slowly but surely making their way ;) 
> 
> If you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I really do appreciate every single one! See you next Friday ❤
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


	6. Year Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Five... *happy sigh* I like this one, y'all. Honestly, there are literally no warnings for this chapter??? You've read the tags (I hope), so you're prepared for this. Just... 
> 
> Enjoy ;)

Bellamy lands flat on his back with a low curse, blinking up at the sun peeking through the trees as he tries to get his breath back. A hand gets shoved in his face, an offer, but he huffs and lightly pushes it away, rolling to the side and standing up. 

“When did you get so tall?” he mutters, looking at Madi with narrowed eyes. “I swear, you  _ barely  _ reached my hip just yesterday.” 

Madi grins at him. “Yesterday was a long time ago, Bellamy. Now, do you want to go again?” 

“You're still short,” Bellamy grumbles. 

She is, to be fair, which is a comfort. The top of her head reaches just a bit below his shoulder now, and she's only a little shorter than Clarke—a fact that Clarke bemoans about frequently. It's hard to see it, to see how much Madi has grown and changed in five years, but he's so stupidly proud of her that it hurts. 

“Maybe, but now I can kick your ass like Clarke always does,” Madi says easily. 

Bellamy scoffs. “She doesn't  _ always  _ kick my ass. We kick each other's asses equally, okay?” 

“Uh huh,” Madi mutters, rolling her eyes. She puts her hand on her hips, looking very much like Clarke as she does. “Are we done training today, or are you still avoiding her?” 

“I am  _ not  _ avoiding her,” Bellamy says sharply, though he knows damn well that he is. “I'm just giving her some space while she's sick.” 

Madi's lips twitch. “Bellamy, she snapped at you for over-fluffing her pillows, and now you won't even go in the house.” 

“I was just trying to help, that's all.” Bellamy raises his hands in surrender and makes a face. “Excuse me for making sure she was okay. My mistake.” 

“She has a  _ cold,  _ Bellamy, she's not dying. Runny nose, slight cough, just some discomfort. You offered to carry her to bed, told her to relax  _ at least  _ fifteen times, and paced back and forth for, like, an hour.” Madi arches an eyebrow at him, which isn't fair because he  _ knows  _ she picked that up from him. “You were driving her crazy with your worry.” 

“Are you lecturing me right now?” Bellamy asks, bemused. “Is that what this is?” 

Madi laughs at him. “Doesn't feel so good, does it? Welcome to my whole life.” 

“Alright, smartass, let's go again,” Bellamy says with a huff, raising his wooden stick up with narrowed eyes, watching Madi snort and broaden her stance. “Let's see who's laughing at the end of this.” 

It's Madi. She's the one who laughs when he goes down yet again, and Bellamy sighs as he stares up at the trees once more. She's gotten very good, so good that she can, in fact, kick his ass—and Clarke's, too. Not every time, but most times, and Bellamy wonders if he's getting old. 

Nah. 

When Madi offers her hand this time, he accepts it and lets her help pull him to his feet. He ruffles her hair and rolls his eyes when she pushes him towards the house with a pointed look. He  _ knows,  _ okay? He's very aware that he should go apologize for his overbearing behavior, but in his defence, he hadn't realized that he was fretting until Clarke was already banishing him from the house for  _ acting crazy.  _

In Clarke's defence, she really is fine. A couple of days of rest and her medicine, then she'll be right back to normal. She's just not feeling great  _ right now,  _ and it never really sits with him right when she isn't feeling good. He can't help it—he just worries. 

Sighing and throwing a look at Madi, he climbs the steps to the porch that he mostly built himself, warily opening the door and stepping inside. As soon as he sees her, a chagrined smile steals over his face, and she rolls her eyes from her too-fluffy pillows. Still, despite the splotchy redness of her face, he can't help but think that she looks fine with her watery blue eyes and the careless way she's thrown half of her short hair up. She doesn't look ill, just looks how she looks every day, except stuffier and redder. 

“If you've come to offer to wait on me hand and foot, I appreciate it, but I'm good,” Clarke says dryly. 

Bellamy sighs and shakes his head. “No, I'm not offering anything, just some company. Madi may have distracted me enough for me to see I was being a  _ little  _ crazy,” he mutters. 

“Smart kid. You're forgiven.” Clarke smiles at him and scoots over, patting the bed. “Come on.” 

She suddenly goes into a sneezing fit, her face drawing up as she sneezes three times in a row. Her expression scrunches when she does, and the little  _ achoo  _ is unfairly adorable for a girl who knows her way around a gun. After it's over, she huffs and makes a stuffy sound, rubbing her nose with the cloth she's been using. When she looks at him, her eyes are even more watery than they were previously. 

“Not saying a word,” Bellamy mutters under her gaze, holding his hands up and moving over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You look miserable, Clarke.” 

Clarke glares at him. “Thanks, Bellamy.” 

“No,” he says hastily, “I just meant—I'm saying that you look like you  _ feel  _ miserable. Not—not that  _ you  _ do. You look fine.” 

“I  _ am  _ fine,” Clarke replies with a sigh. “I just can't breathe out of my nose and my eyes won't stop itching  _ or  _ running. Plus, it feels like there's cobwebs inside my skull, so there's that.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” Bellamy asks. 

Clarke hums. “No, but I appreciate the thought. You should go have a day out with Madi. Go take a drive, or go swimming, or—I don't know—just go spend time together. I'll be here, asleep, no big deal.” 

“If you're sure?” Bellamy checks one more time. “Really, I can stay here with you and wait on you hand and foot and fluff your pillows. I'll do all of that and more, you know I would.” 

“I know.” Clarke smiles at him, then goes into another sneezing fit. This one seems to make her eyes even more irritable because she sinks back down in the pillows with a tired sigh. “Go on, go do something. I'll feel better knowing you two are out being productive rather than worrying about me.”

“Alright,” Bellamy murmurs, leaning forward to grab her hand and squeeze it. “We won't be gone too long. We'll be back to check on you just in case.” 

“Fair,” Clarke allows, squeezing his hand back before he pulls away. She smiles softly, even as she settles back into the pillows and closes her eyes. “Have fun.” 

Bellamy watches her for a beat longer. “We will.” 

With that, he pushes himself to his feet and heads outside, looking back to make sure she's really asleep. When Madi sees him coming back down the stairs, she raises her eyebrows, and he gives her a thumbs up. 

“Knew she couldn't stay mad at you,” Madi muses, her eyes bright with humor. 

Bellamy grins at her. “She never could.” 

“So, what are we going to do now?” 

“How do you feel about a drive?” 

* * *

The bracelet on Clarke's wrist is pushed around and around by her fingers. Bellamy watches her do it with a small smile, remembering the night he gave it to her. She always fiddles with it when she's deep in thought, never seeming to realize that she's doing it, and he likes seeing it on her, likes that she's never taken it off.

Bellamy had taken the time to make Madi a necklace. He'd found an opaque rock out in the woods and grabbed it without a second thought. It had taken him two days to carve out the letter  _ C  _ and  _ B  _ to add to the twine where he'd put the rock. It hangs in the middle, a letter on each side, and Madi wears it around her neck under her shirt. He'd told her that it meant they'd always be with her no matter where she was, and she hasn't taken it off since. 

“What's on your mind?” Bellamy asks, knowing that faraway look in her eyes well. 

Clarke blinks and looks over at him. “Oh, you know, the usual. It's, um, getting closer. Year five.” 

Bellamy nods. “Year five. Only three hundred and two more days to go before the others come back.” 

“Do you think they'll be excited to see us?” Clarke murmurs, frowning slightly. 

“You know they will. Everyone in Space thinks we're dead, and everyone in the bunker thinks we're up in Space. Either way, it's been five years since they last saw us, so of course they'll be excited.” 

“It'll be nice to hug my mom. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually miss Murphy’s little remarks. And Emori’s expression when he makes them. I miss Raven, too. I wonder how Monty and Harper are holding up. You know they love each other  _ so much.  _ I hope they've been happy.” 

“Clarke, everyone is going to be  _ fine,”  _ Bellamy assures her with a small laugh. He throws his arm around her shoulders and winks at her. “Hell, I'm just excited to see the looks on their faces when they all find out we've been here this whole time, raising Madi. Octavia is going to be a great aunt.” 

“What's your ideal turnout?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Clarke gives a half-shrug. “How do you want it to go when everything starts happening? What future are you hoping for?” 

Bellamy blows out a deep breath. “You know, that's a really loaded question, but I guess… Well, I hope everyone makes it, obviously. The land is large enough for everyone, so we should be able to coexist really well. The Valley is plentiful, so we'll prosper. Maybe we'll build more homes, start up a proper school for all the kids, and everyone will be at peace here. Madi will have a good life, all of us will.” 

“Yeah,” Clarke murmurs, “that's what I want, too.” 

“It'll be different with everyone here,” Bellamy notes, glancing around their surroundings. They're all at a lake that Madi is currently doing handstands in, and it looks beautiful—shimmering water, bright green plants, sun beaming down to the ground. “Just busier, I guess. We'll probably see each other less.” 

The thought is realistic, but Bellamy doesn't like it all that much. It's easy for Clarke to get sucked into things, pulled away in all different directions, no time for herself. Even in a peaceful world, people will undoubtedly still seek her out. Unfortunately, Bellamy has the same problem at his doorstep; people come to him for the same reasons. 

He'd like to think that things will be the same between them, this easy closeness, but he's worried it'll all change. She'll probably move into a house with her mom, so they won't sleep together again. But where will Madi go? Bellamy doesn't like the idea of either of them not sleeping near him. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke starts, but it's far too late—he's already worked up. 

“Madi is  _ ours,”  _ Bellamy says with emphasis, staring into her eyes. “I'm not saying that you're forced to stick around me all the time if you'd rather be with others, but—” 

“Bellamy.” 

“—there's no way I'm just going to be okay with both of you up and leaving. We'll have to work out a schedule or something because I'm  _ not—”  _

“Bellamy!” Clarke bursts out. 

He snaps his mouth shut, clearing his throat. “I'm just saying. And—and it's better if we talk about it now while we have the time.” 

“I'm not going to upset Madi’s routine just because other people will be here,” Clarke tells him with a faint smile. “Until you kick me out, I'll be around.” 

“Kick you out?” Bellamy blinks at her. “Why would I do something like that?” 

“Well,” she says, averting her eyes, “you could, you know, get a girlfriend or something.” 

Bellamy opens his mouth, then closes it slowly. He actually hasn't even considered the fact that there will soon be other girls on the earth besides her. It just hasn't crossed his mind. Now that he's thinking about it, though, he gets what she means. Girls like him, and in a peaceful world, there's no reason  _ not  _ to get a partner to spend the rest of his life with. 

Even still, he instinctively knows that he won't. He just...doesn't want a girlfriend. His interest for girls must have filtered out after the death wave because he's not really excited about it now. Maybe that'll change when people get here, and not just for him. 

For the first time, he considers that Clarke might find someone to fall in love with when everything evens itself out. A boyfriend or girlfriend who she'll want to sleep beside, who will get to know Madi, who will touch Clarke—hold her hand, kiss her head, hug her. 

“We should just never date anyone ever until Madi is way older,” Bellamy blurts out. 

Clarke blinks at him. “What?” 

“I mean, if—if you fall in love...okay,” he says haltingly, forcing himself to get the words out. He wants Clarke to be happy, after all, and if she finds that with someone, he'd never begrudge her that. “Just, uh, maybe we shouldn't have...casual relationships until everything is better, you know? When life is on track and everyone is settled.” 

“You're saying we shouldn't have sex,” Clarke says slowly, staring at him. “With other people. Or at all, I mean. Just—just no sex.” 

“No, that's not what I'm saying,” Bellamy murmurs carefully, choosing his words wisely. “What you do in your free time is  _ your  _ business. I'm just suggesting we steer clear of relationships if we're not falling in love, just until things are...fine.” 

Clarke clears her throat. “I mean, yeah, that makes sense. I'm just a little surprised, that's all. I figured you'd want that after, uh, five years of nothing.” 

Bellamy snorts. “It's been a hell of a dry spell, I'll give you that, but Madi is the most important thing. She's used to  _ us,  _ not anyone else. I mean, if you randomly fell in love with Raven or something, that would probably be different. She knows her through stories, so that's not what I mean.” 

“But if you started dating some girl from the bunker, it would be different?” Clarke asks him. 

“This is complicated,” Bellamy mumbles, tangling his fingers together and clearing his throat. “Just—I don't know. Do what you want, I guess.” 

Clarke stares at him. “Bellamy, you keep talking like it's going to be  _ me  _ who goes off and gets into a relationship. Dry spell or not, I'm really not that interested in it.” 

“Yeah?” Bellamy glances at her, some of the tension easing from his shoulders when he sees that she's being entirely serious. “Okay, me too.” 

“What's this really about?” Clarke murmurs. 

“I guess I'm just not jumping with joy at the idea of having to share you,” Bellamy admits, holding her gaze. “Or Madi, for that matter.” 

Clarke's lips quirk. “Jealous?” 

“Of someone who's not even here yet?” Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, stupidly jealous.” 

“Oh.” Clarke's face goes a little red, and he's strangely mesmerized by the sight. “Well, don't be. Me and Madi aren't going anywhere, I promise.” 

Bellamy sighs. “You say that  _ now.”  _

He tries to tamp down on the rising discomfort at the thought of Clarke with anyone, but he doesn't have much luck. It's strange because the idea of Clarke and anyone she's been with before doesn't bug him in the least. He's talked to her about Finn, about Lexa, even about Niylah, and that never bothered him like this does. It's actually starting to get under his skin. 

He blames his next thought on the fact that he's a man and his dry spell has lasted five years, nothing more. It crosses his mind that he could end Clarke's dry spell—and his—before anyone else gets the chance. She won't feel the need to go to anyone else if he gives her that on top of everything else. 

And  _ nope,  _ bad. Bad, bad,  _ bad  _ Bellamy. He shakes his head like he's dispelling water from his ears, clearing his throat as he forces images from his mind. His hand on her thigh, her legs wrapped around his waist, his fist in her hair. No,  _ no,  _ not happening. He is not doing this just because he feels like he has some kind of claim to her after being the only thing she's needed for the last five years. 

“Bellamy?” Clarke looks at him oddly, like she's worried he's going insane. “You look like you have a concussion. Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” Bellamy grunts. “I'm going to go cool off in the lake.” 

And that is precisely what he does because he is a well-rounded guy who knows better than to think about fucking his best friend like the last five years they've had together doesn't come with a warning label. 

* * *

The Rover jolts and skips, the pedal reacting to too much pressure then not enough. Madi winces and clears her throat, craning her head to look out the window as she starts pushing them forward at a crawl, her eyes a little wide on the wheel. 

“You can give it some more gas,” Bellamy murmurs fondly, watching her in amusement. 

Madi throws him a quick glance. “We won't wreck, right? I can't mess up the Rover, no matter what I do, that's what you said.” 

“Madi, we're out in the middle of nowhere. The terrain is flat and steady and there's nothing around for you to crash into.” Bellamy reaches over and pats her arm. “You're going to be  _ fine.”  _

“This is kind of exciting,” Madi whispers, biting her lip to hide her grin as she speeds up. 

Bellamy nods in encouragement. “There you go, get used to the feel of it. I promise it's easy.” 

“Who taught you?” Madi asks, slowly relaxing. She eases back into the seat, never taking her eyes off the road. “Did you teach Clarke and Octavia?” 

“I taught myself,” Bellamy tells her, his lips curling up at the memory. “Except, back then, there were a lot of things for us to crash into. I actually didn't teach Clarke, no. We all kind of learned together. Octavia was more of a horse kind of girl.” 

Madi hums softly. “I liked horses.” 

“Did you ever learn to ride them?” 

“Yes.”

Bellamy watches her carefully. “Who taught you?” 

Madi doesn't reply. She doesn't often talk about her life before them, especially not before  _ Praimfaya,  _ and she never talks about her parents. He gets it, but he can't help his curiosity. By her silence, he guesses that one of her parents taught her to ride a horse, or both. 

“Can I turn?” Madi asks after a long silence. 

“Yeah, just make sure you slow down before you do. The Rover can be a little top-heavy,” Bellamy instructs easily, looking out the window. 

Madi is silent and focused as she works out how to turn the Rover. She does it a couple of more times until she gets the feel of it, growing more comfortable with driving altogether. With time, he knows she'll be as relaxed about it as they are. 

A few moments later, it becomes apparent which direction she's driving them in. She knows the Valley as well as they do, but she also has a base idea of how to get to Polis. It's a little bit of a longer trip, but they're already over halfway there anyway because he brought her out here to teach her to drive. Clarke's the one who suggested it, waving them off as she worked on restocking their soaps. 

Bellamy doesn't call her out on it, just along for the ride. He doesn't particularly mind going, though it always feels like prodding a bruise that will never fully go away. Madi especially likes to sit on top of the bunker and speculate what's going on down below. After all these years, Octavia is still her absolute favorite, and Bellamy still adores that. 

“Bellamy?” Madi murmurs, her tone curious. 

“Hmm?” Bellamy looks over at her. 

Madi stares straight ahead. “I'm glad you stayed down here with Clarke. I'm sorry you're not with the others, but I'm happy you're not at the same time.” 

“Me too,” Bellamy replies calmly. 

“Really?” Madi's head snaps over to him, her eyes wide with surprise. 

Bellamy chuckles. “Really. Now, watch the road.”

“What road?” Madi grumbles, rolling her eyes. A moment later, she sneaks a quick peek at him again, curious. “So, I mean, you don't regret staying?” 

“I never did, not once.” 

“Because you wouldn't have left Clarke behind?” 

“I—” Bellamy stops, blinking. He allows himself to imagine a world where Clarke went out there on her own. Maybe Murphy wouldn't have been able to carry Monty back  _ and  _ what was needed for the rocket. Maybe he would have stayed behind and stood at those doors, waiting and hoping she would show up in time, but she never would.

Would he have left her behind? 

“Bellamy?” Madi asks cautiously, sounding dubious now, uncertain. 

He doesn't want to lie to her, but he doesn't want to admit the truth either. It would have torn him up, would have changed him irrevocably, but he would have made the same call she did years ago back on that dropship. And, just like he forgave her, she would forgive him without question, understanding completely why that choice was made. But he'd never forgive himself, and he would have to live with that for so long, and he's self-aware enough to know that he'd never make that same choice twice. 

That doesn't stop him from feeling guilty for the fact that he knows he would have left her to die, unaware that she'd live, all alone until Madi came along. He wonders if she would have radioed him instead of Raven. He likes to imagine that she would. 

Madi makes a small noise in the back of her throat, the sound a disappointed one. “You would have left her, wouldn't you?” she asks softly, sounding utterly  _ heartbroken _ by his silence. 

“I would have, yes,” Bellamy admits gruffly, swallowing thickly and watching her. It's the first time he's ever seen Madi look truly, deeply disappointed and upset with him. “Madi, you have to understand. The others left us because they didn't have a choice. If they would have stayed, they would have died. If I wasn't there with Clarke, and I knew she wouldn't get back in time, then I'd think that she was going to die anyway. It would be my responsibility to save the others, no matter how much it would have hurt, no matter how much I would have wanted to stay. That's—those were the choices Clarke and I faced, and we had to make them because  _ someone  _ had to, even if we didn't want to.” 

“I'm angry at you,” Madi whispers harshly, blinking her eyes hard. She doesn't look away from the windshield. “It feels like you're saying that you would have given up on her. And me, too.” 

“I wouldn't have known,” Bellamy murmurs, though he's not trying to defend himself. “I know it's not right, I know that, Madi. Things rarely were back then, and some of the choices we had to make were just like that. But trust me when I say Clarke would have understood, and the  _ moment  _ I got back down and found her alive with you, I would have done everything to make sure I never did something like that again. I'm sorry you're angry, but I won't lie to you, even if the truth makes you hate me.” 

Madi shakes her head, pulling one hand from the wheel to swipe her cheeks. “I don't hate you, Bellamy. I hate that you would have been forced to choose. I hate that I understand it.” 

“Me too, kiddo, me too.” 

The rest of the drive is held in heavy silence. He wants to say more, but there's no words he can offer that will make this right. He's worried she'll look at him differently now, and he has no clue how to prevent it. A part of him thinks he deserves it. 

When they reach Polis, they walk through the crumbled city in continuously stifled silence. He thinks, at first, that she's still upset with him, but when he glances at her, he realizes that she's thinking really hard. He knows what she looks like when she's doing that, her brow furrowed and her eyes distant. She doesn't seem to be feeling much of anything, too lost in her thoughts to take note of emotion. 

The idea that Bellamy might've ended up on the ring instead of on the ground with Clarke and Madi isn't an idea he'd like to contemplate. For the last five years, they've been his entire world, and he wouldn't trade that for anything. As much as he loves those in Space and those in the bunker, he just can't fathom the idea of trading this life to be with them—especially not when they're all going to end up together anyway. 

“How long until the others can come back?” 

Bellamy watches Madi kick a stray rock as they come to a stop in front of where the bunker is. “Two hundred and fourteen more days.” 

Madi rounds on him, her eyes blazing. “Tell me you won't do it  _ now.  _ I—I don't care what you've done before, or what you would have done then; I care what you may do later. Promise me you won't ever do something like that to Clarke. Bellamy,  _ promise me.”  _

“Madi,” Bellamy whispers, stricken. “Hey, no, I would  _ never  _ leave Clarke behind. Listen to me, you and Clarke are—you're my everything, and I would rather die than do anything to cost myself the two of you. If it's a choice, if I can choose, I will  _ always  _ choose you and Clarke, okay?” 

“Okay,” Madi whispers, swallowing thickly and moving forward to slam into him and hug him. 

Bellamy strokes her hair. “Okay.” 

* * *

Clarke has this thing she'll do when she's in an especially good mood. When she's not dwelling on the past, or worrying about the future, and she's allowing herself to enjoy the moment she is in, Bellamy notices that she hums and sways. It's almost a bit of a dance, but not quite. 

He'll watch her sometimes, gaze rooted to the way she'll sway from side-to-side like a flower in the breeze, humming a tune that goes with nothing as she does whatever she's doing at the time. Right now, she's doing the most simple task of re-organizing her medicine cabinet as she restocks it. 

Technically, Bellamy is supposed to be folding clothes, but he's a little stuck. It's kind of a trance, honestly, and he can't rip his gaze away. He doesn't even really want to, is the thing. 

That's when it hits him. 

He's always known, deep down, of course. It's always been simmering just beneath the surface. It has broken through in splintered pieces in the past, like the first time he ever thought to question why he wants to touch her all the time, or the moment she'd shaved his face and he'd been unable to breathe at her proximity, or even recently when he'd been actually,  _ genuinely  _ jealous at the thought of her with someone else in the future, and especially when his first reaction to that had been the thought that he could offer himself up to her however she wanted. Just little nudges that were trying to get him to plunge deeper and realize what he's known all along. 

_ I love you,  _ he thinks as he stares at her back, fixed on the motion of her hair brushing the back of her pale neck.  _ I'm in love with you. I have been this whole time. _

‘This whole time’ stretches back farther than five years, and he knows it. With that in mind, he should be a little bit prepared for this, at least. The thing is, he very much is not, and the realization punches all the air from his lungs, sending him reeling. 

It's stupid because he  _ knows.  _ Of course he knows. It's pretty fucking obvious. But knowing and accepting are two very different stages, and he needs a moment to gather himself as he adjusts from one to the other. For a long time, he simply doesn't think and watches Clarke sway in place as she hums. 

She's just messing around in her cabinet, and he's in love with her. 

Bellamy groans quietly and reaches up to scrub his hands over his face. This is...a problem. Not loving her, specifically, but what comes after. Now that he knows it, he can't unknow it, and he's not very good at keeping a lid on what he's thinking these days—not around her, at least. She's going to know, probably the moment she turns around and looks at him, and he honestly has no idea how she'll react. 

If this was a different world, he'd just get up and go over to her, grab her face in his hands and kiss her. Actually, no, if this was a different world, he'd have realized that these feelings have been in development for a long,  _ long  _ time—probably from the beginning. And in a different, better world, he'd already have expressed this to her and done something about it. 

This isn't a different world, though. It's a world that they landed into and didn't get time to catch their breath, let alone examine their feelings. He never had time, or the chance was snatched from him, or Clarke was gone, or they'd betrayed each other, or _something._ It's always, _always_ something with them. The world was unkind to them both, and they were cruel to it in return, and it changed them. Feelings, love, all of it that came with it...none of that could flourish or be a priority—survival always took the forefront. 

So, what was he supposed to do? Accept it? Make a move, take a chance, risk everything? No.  _ Hell  _ no. Everything would have hurt a lot worse if he had, for both of them, and he doesn't regret not realizing it then. It's kind of horrifying to think that it took five years of a much kinder world for him to accept it now, but he cuts himself some slack—they have Madi, and things aren't just fixed overnight, and truthfully, things aren't really fixed  _ now.  _ They're just better, or as good as they can be, all things considered. 

The fact remains. It's here now, and he knows it, and he doesn't have a clue as to what to do about it now anymore than he did back then. 

He knows what he  _ wants  _ to do. He  _ wants  _ to get up and see what her lips feel like beneath his, wants to drag her to bed and shatter their dry spell, wants to touch her and know that she understands why. He  _ wants _ to tell her, to say the words because she deserves to hear them, to swear that she's always been his person and will always be, to promise that they're in this together, no matter what comes. 

Of course, that's all based on the hope that she might actually return even a  _ piece  _ of the feelings he's just now realizing he has for her. 

Which...does she? 

No, that can't matter. It can't because this is not a different world, and no matter what he  _ wants, _ taking a step to show her or tell her what he feels could make things worse. He doubts that anything could break their bond, and they're both adults—even if she didn't return the feelings, they'd be perfectly fine, or as fine as two people could be in that situation. Though this world may be kind now, he knows that life has never been and will likely never be. To take that leap is like walking into a war without a weapon, and no matter the carnage that he's wrought, he'll never do that. 

Plus, there's Madi to consider. The whole dynamic could change in a heartbeat, and he doesn't want to upend her life anymore than it already has been or could be when the others come back. Maybe a year ago, or two, but now? That's unfair to her. 

“Bellamy?” 

His head snaps up, his hands hitting his thighs as he shifts in his seat. He looks at her with wide eyes, his throat bobbing, and she frowns at him. He waits for her to see it, to call him out on it, to list all the reasons why they can't when he already knows. 

She just arches an eyebrow at him. 

Hesitantly, he clears his throat. “Yeah?” 

“I finished with my cabinet. I'm going to head out and see if Madi wants to go fishing.” Clarke heads for the door, but pauses and looks at him. He waits, but she just draws her eyebrows together. “You okay?” 

No, he is not. “Yeah, I'm fine.” 

“Okay, well, do you want to come with us?” 

“Ah, no, I should finish these clothes,” Bellamy mumbles, forcing himself to smile. 

Clarke nods. “Alright, see you when we get back.” 

“Bye,” he says weakly. 

As soon as the door shuts behind her, he buries his face in his hands and groans again. God, he is utterly hopeless, and he knows it. 

* * *

The next few weeks that follow are the most stressful of his life, and that's really saying something. 

The thing is, Bellamy really is obvious without meaning to be, and he hasn't realized it until now. Looking back now, he can see all those little moments that really gave it away, and he didn't know? 

He's transparent. 

Like  _ if I'm on that list, you're on that list.  _ Okay, so he had meant that in the way he said it, as in she's essential in the same way he is, so if he was going to be on that list, she should be as well. But he'd also meant it in the sense that he just  _ wasn't  _ going to allow his name on that list if hers wasn't on there with his. He wouldn't have been able to do it without her, and he knew that all the way back then. 

Like putting on enemy armor and doing absolutely  _ everything  _ to get her back because he just  _ can't lose her.  _ Now that he's thinking about that, it was all very dramatic and obvious back then, but their lives being in danger made it pretty easy not to think about it too hard. He'd had a messed up leg and still wouldn't stop because he couldn't—he remembers that feeling of desperation, that need to have her back with him. 

Like Jaha saying  _ you keep her centered,  _ and Bellamy telling him that he'd had that backwards. And it's true. Clarke does and always has kept him centered, despite all the mistakes he's made—the ones he didn't was because she was there to stop him. 

Like saying  _ I got you for that,  _ because he did and always has. She uses her head for him when his heart gets too loud, and in that moment, his heart was the loudest it had ever been. They way she was talking, as if she thought something was going to happen to her, it had made him  _ insist  _ that nothing was. Because he always had her, and he couldn't face the idea that one day he might not. 

So many endless heavy moments that had screamed his love for her, and he somehow missed it? It gets worse because they have light moments too, moments that pulsed with unsaid things and feelings, or just stupid moments that it was obvious. 

Hell, he nearly ran right into a tree and actually crashed a vehicle because he was too focused on her. Him. The guy who never strays from what he needs to be doing, pushing forward to get it done. 

God, how has he been so  _ blind?  _

Needless to say, Bellamy is having a hard time keeping it together. He's very much the type to take action when he gets antsy and has a problem, except the way to take action this time is inaction. It's a conundrum that he has to deal with for the next few weeks, on top of trying to hide it from Clarke who has a keen eye and knows him unfortunately well. 

Things become uncertain. He touches her just on habit alone, but halfway through, he realizes what he's doing and pulls away. Kissing her forehead or hair is a painful experience now because he realizes how it would take one dip of his head and he'd be kissing her lips instead, which is not a good idea. Even sleeping with her has become a bit of a problem, because now that he  _ knows,  _ his subconscious is lit up in his sleep and he always seeks her body out to curl his around, like all his feelings are spilling out in whatever way they can. 

The simplicity in their routine is upset now, and Clarke is  _ very  _ far from stupid. She sees it, but she never says anything about it. He catches her watching him sometimes with a small frown, a furrow of concern in her brow, no doubt wondering what's wrong. He doesn't know how she hasn't gotten it yet, and he thinks his new, distant behavior is actually starting to hurt her feelings a bit. 

“You're hurting her feelings, you know.” 

Bellamy sighs heavily and looks over at Madi with his eyebrows raised. “Madi, it's—” 

“Complicated, I know.” Madi stabs the ground with her dagger into the ground with more force than absolutely necessary. “You said that.” 

He has said that. Multiple times. Because Madi is also very far from stupid, but unlike Clarke, she has no qualms about asking what the hell his problem is. 

He's trying to keep an easy balance here, but he's pretty sure he's failing. Clarke is doing that thing where she pretends to be happier than she actually is, and Madi is doing that thing where she's stabbing the ground because she can't stab him and she'd really like to, and he's doing that thing where he's really stressed out and trying not to show it. All-in-all, his nerves are shot and his girls are upset, so really, he doesn't know what he's trying to accomplish here. 

“Madi,” Bellamy tries again, weary, “I know it seems like Clarke and I are—” 

“Just go hug her or something,” Madi mutters, looking at him with a disapproving frown. “She's never mad at you when you hug her, and you don't hug her like you used to.” 

Bellamy blows out an explosive breath. “It's not that simple. Look, I know you hate it when we say this, but you really  _ will  _ understand when you're older.”

Madi scoffs, snatching her knife from the earth and tossing her hair. “Fine, let me know when I'm at the appropriate age to understand why you're making things complicated.” She tosses him a harsh look and stomps towards the treeline.  _ “Yu laik branwoda.”  _

“Hey, I'm not an idiot!” Bellamy barks after her. “And where do you think you're going?!” 

“Away!” Madi calls back. “I'll be back before dark!” 

“Maybe I am an idiot,” Bellamy mutters to himself, reaching up to shove his hair out of his eyes. 

He shakes his head. He's being too hard on himself. He's had only about three weeks to become accustomed to the fact that he's in love with Clarke, so it's not like he's just going to be able to carry on as if it's not on his mind literally  _ all the time.  _ If it was Clarke, he's sure she would be in the same predicament, meaning she either hasn't realized her feelings yet or she doesn't have them at all. 

Used to, wars and politics were the biggest problems this world had to offer. But this? This is ultimately more stressful than he's prepared for. 

Sighing, Bellamy finishes cleaning his gun for the hundredth time and forces himself to stand up. He's not avoiding Clarke because there's no point. He'll just miss her, and that has nothing to do with feelings at all and everything to do with the fact that she's his best friend that he's spent nearly every day with for the last five years. He'd rather stand right beside her and suffer under the pressure of unsaid things than get away from her and have some relief. 

When he pokes his head inside, she's sitting at the table, idly drawing. She doesn't notice him at first, too busy adding curls to his hair—she's drawing him with Madi, both of them smiling. He clears his throat, making her blink and look up at him. 

She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze lights up, but only slightly, muted more now than it has been in years. She doesn't say anything, doesn't crack a stupid joke, doesn't stand up to move closer to him, just sits there and stares like the last five years can't stand a chance against the distance between them now. He  _ hates  _ it. 

“Our child says I should hug you,” Bellamy mumbles, easing the door shut and smiling at her weakly. 

It's a cheap shot, pulling out the  _ our child  _ thing, and he knows it. But, well, he knows what will work. When her shoulders relax slightly and her fingers twitch, he knows he made the right call. Her smile is a little more genuine, though no less sad. 

“Okay,” Clarke says calmly. 

It's not an agreement or a disagreement, not her encouraging him or dissuading him, not a  _ yes  _ and not a  _ no.  _ Just simple acceptance like she'll let him hug her, but won't  _ dare  _ to admit to wanting it. 

It breaks his heart a little. 

Bellamy sighs. “I'm inclined to agree with her.” 

“She's a pretty smart kid,” Clarke allows softly. 

He doesn't make her come to him, somehow knowing she won't. Maybe a few weeks ago, she would have. After this, though, there's not much he could say that would make her cross the distance  _ he's  _ created. That's fair, he knows that, but he still wishes she wouldn't close herself off so hard, even after all these calm years when she didn't have to. 

All these years in between and they're still as messed up as they always have been. Maybe they always will be, maybe no amount of time can fix that. 

Having each other and peace has helped, though, and Bellamy pulling away isn't making things easy for either of them. He knows that, but he's not sure how to go about doing this when he's overly aware of his feelings for her. How is he supposed to hold her without never wanting to let go? How is he going to kiss her forehead and make sure not to take the very next step? How is he supposed to brush his fingers over her soft skin and then pull his hands away naturally? He's just not built for that. 

“I'm sorry,” Bellamy tells her quietly, walking over and stepping between her legs to wrap his arms around her shoulders and hug her. 

Clarke huffs. “It's okay,” she mumbles, even though it's most definitely not okay and they both know it. 

She drops her hand from the table and slides down from the chair, standing up to wrap her arms around his waist, linking her hands around his back. He can feel her cheek pressed to his chest, and he wonders if she can hear his erratic heartbeat. If she does hear it, she doesn't mention it and simply holds on. 

They stand like that for a long time, long enough that Bellamy calms and he presses his cheek to her head, long enough that they start swaying a bit. It's actually very nice, and he's simply enjoying the slide of the soft skin of her arm beneath his fingertips, mindlessly drawing little patterns on the surface. 

But, of course, the moment shatters when Clarke pulls away with her eyebrows raised. He can see the confusion in her gaze, the questions she's holding back, the urge to know why he's been acting the way he has. She really has no idea. 

“I have an idea of why you've been acting like this,” Clarke murmurs, making him freeze because he'd been sure of the opposite literal seconds ago. 

Bellamy clears his throat. “Do you?”

“Bellamy, it's  _ okay,”  _ Clarke says with a small smile, stepping back from the circle of his arms. “There are a hundred and seventy-four more days before our world changes from what we know. There will be friends, your sister, other  _ girls,  _ and that's fine.” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy says slowly, “please don't be stupid. You've never been stupid. Don't start now.” 

Clarke's lips twitch and she rolls her eyes at him, laughing a little and poking his arm, but she's not getting it. She's not  _ understanding.  _ “I know we talked about not having relationships because you're a little worried you'll have to share me and Madi, and I won't lie and say I'm eager to share you and her either, but I want you to be happy, Bellamy. That's all I've ever wanted, and if you find that with—”

“I  _ am  _ happy,” Bellamy cuts her off fiercely, reaching out to grab her cheeks and force her to look at him. She blinks a little in surprise, rearing back slightly at how serious he is, but he holds her gaze. “I don't want  _ other girls,  _ Clarke, I want—” He stops, the words catching in his throat. “I—I—” 

“Bellamy?” Clarke stops leaning away and leans  _ in,  _ her eyes flicking back and forth as she scans his face. Slowly, glacially slow, her confusion starts to melt away. “What do you want?” 

Bellamy swallows. “Use your head, Clarke. That's what you always do. What do you  _ think  _ my heart wants?” 

Clarke stares at him. She just...stares at him. He knows she's figured it out because she _always_ figures it out, and she's not reacting in either direction. In fact, her entire face has gone blank between his hands, and his stomach clenches in a way it hasn't in a long time. He realizes that he's _scared._

Slowly, she reaches up and lays her hands over his wrists, gently pushing his hands from her face. They fall limply to his sides, and he knows a rejection when he sees one, even if he's never really experienced it like this. The last man and woman on the last inhabitable patch of earth and they  _ never  _ did anything, not once. 

How did he think this was going to go? 

“No,” Clarke finally says, the word simple and short. 

Bellamy swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding. “Okay.” 

He will respect her decision and her feelings because  _ of course  _ he will. Sure, it hurts, and sure, he wishes it would go differently, but he's not going to be angry about it. He'll continue on as they have been, and at least now he doesn't have to feel like he has to hide it. This is fine. He'll deal with it like he deals with all of the heartbreaking things in his life. 

“I'm not—” Clarke grimaces and shakes her head, and now she's glaring at him for some reason, which isn't encouraging. He doesn't want her to be  _ angry  _ about feelings he can't help. “No, there's no way.” 

Bellamy blinks, needing a moment to process that she isn't rejecting  _ him,  _ just rejecting the idea of him feeling like this in the first place. “What?” he says dumbly, frowning at her. “What do you mean?” 

“You don't want—” Clarke stops, averting her eyes as she lowers her voice. “You don't want  _ me,  _ Bellamy. That's not—you just  _ don't.”  _

“Don't do that.” Bellamy steps forward, not even fully realizing that he's moved until he's much closer to her and reaching out to grip her chin, tilting her face up so he can stare into her eyes. He wants her to see how serious he is right now. “Don't try to change my mind about this, Clarke. This is something my heart isn't going to waver on, you  _ have  _ to know that, because you know  _ me.”  _ He drags his hand from her chin and taps her temple. “For this, the head doesn't matter. It's not war, or sacrifice, or survival. It just  _ is,  _ and you don't have to meet me halfway here or feel the same, but you do have to accept it because it's not going to go away.” 

Clarke stares at him with clear eyes, looking a little lost, her lips parted. “What am I supposed to do with this? Bellamy, how do I—what am I supposed to  _ do?”  _

“Well,” Bellamy says wryly, his lips slowly spreading into a smile, “I guess you can do whatever the hell you want.” 

“Oh god,” Clarke chokes out, a weak laugh slipping from her lips, and she shakes her head. Breathing out shakily, she closes the distance between them to slide her arms around his shoulders and hook her chin on his shoulder. “Whatever the hell I want, huh? What if I don't know what that  _ is?”  _

Bellamy slides his hands around her waist, quietly pleased that he still gets this, at least. “I guess you figure it out and let me know.” 

“Okay,” Clarke whispers, holding onto him tighter. 

“Okay,” Bellamy agrees, closing his eyes and burying his face into her throat. 

They stay like that for a long time. 

* * *

Bellamy is sitting on the grass, staring blankly ahead, lost in his thoughts, when Clarke walks over and kneels down, swinging one leg over both his and lowering herself into his lap. 

He blinks. 

To be fair, he's not really expecting this to happen, so his surprise is perfectly normal. For all their closeness, she's never just sat down in his lap like it's  _ her  _ seat, and she's certainly never done it without a reason. Also, he was just lost in thought, taking a rare moment to not find something to do for once. And, last he checked, Clarke was walking Madi through the normal routine of seeing her off to go do the things she leaves to do for hours and demand that she be home before it gets dark. 

A fairly normal day, overall, but this is far from it. 

He's not complaining. Of course he's not; he's not  _ stupid.  _ Anyone would be lucky to have Clarke Griffin crawl into their lap, so there's definitely not a protest in his mind. It's just… Well. 

Ever since Bellamy admitted his feelings without actually saying them, things have gotten a lot easier. Clarke's not pretending to be happier than she is, and he's not trying to distance himself anymore. In fact, he goes right back to doing the things he was before, except now he makes a point to clearly express on his face that there are feelings currently knocking around in his chest while he does. He's not going to lie, nor will he hide it, but he's careful not to shove it in her face at every opportunity. 

Clarke hasn't given any opinion of aforementioned feelings, nor has she expressed any of her own, but she has been blushing a lot more than he thought was possible. He didn't even know Clarke  _ could  _ blush this much—it's a bit of a delight, really. And, no matter what, she doesn't pull a  _ him  _ and start creating distance between them, even if she hasn't properly reacted to the fact that he's head over heels for her and she now knows it. 

“Hi,” Clarke says, shifting a little until she can get comfortable and stare at him intently. 

Bellamy coughs a little and forces himself to keep his hands down on the ground. “Hi. Need something?”

“Not particularly, no.” 

“Okay. So, uh, you have something to say?” 

Clarke shakes her head and smiles a little, reaching out to fiddle with the loose hem of his collar, her fingers brushing his throat. “Nothing comes to mind. Well, no, that's not true. There's a lot of things I can say, but I'm not going to. Not right now.” 

“Alright,” Bellamy says carefully, flicking his gaze down to her hand, then back up to her face. “Not that I'm complaining, because I'm  _ really  _ not, but is there a specific reason you're in my lap?” 

“No,” Clarke says again. She looks away, then looks back at him, her eyes bright and determined. He's seen that look before, as if she's about to go to war.

“Okay, so what are you doing?” Bellamy asks. 

Clarke holds his gaze and takes a deep breath, blinking slowly. “Whatever the hell I want. Is that okay with you?” 

Bellamy can feel his answering grin spread across his face. “More than. Have at it, Princess.”

He doesn't really know what  _ whatever the hell Clarke wants  _ entails, but he's very sure that it's a positive thing. He's content to let her—as he said—have at it however she pleases, even if his mind is having a hard time preparing him for it. Because, as much as he  _ knows  _ Clarke, there are just some things that she'll shock the everloving hell out of him over. 

When she reaches out to trail her fingers along his jaw with a furrow of concentration in her brow, he's a little blindsided. He's not sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't for her to touch his face with careful, cool hands as if she's been itching to do it forever, as if she hasn't done it before when he knows damn well that she has. 

He leaves her to it, though. Just watches her look at him, silently pleased by how much of her attention she's giving his face currently. He may be older, but he has his boyish tendencies, and something about the slightly enthralled expression on her face makes him feel stupidly smug. At least he knows she finds him attractive, but he's pretty sure he's known that for a while, possibly as long as he's known  _ her.  _

“Bellamy,” Clarke says suddenly, pulling back and blinking at him. “We should go inside.”

“Inside?” he asks, then the implications of that request hit him full in the chest, and he doesn't wait around for an explanation. 

Before she can so much as move, he reaches up to grip her under her knees and twist around to the side. He hits his knees at the same time that Clarke yelps a little and reaches out to grab onto his shoulders, staring at him like he's insane, then rolling her eyes when he pushes to his feet and grins at her. Okay, so maybe he's showing off  _ just a little,  _ but he's strong and he knows it, so why not? 

She doesn't seem overly impressed as he carries her inside, which is a damn shame, really. She huffs when he kicks the door shut, then mutters, “You're completely ridiculous, I hope you know that.” 

“You like it,” Bellamy teases. He raises his eyebrows at her. “Where to next?” 

“Bed,” Clarke replies, arching an eyebrow like this is another challenge she refuses to back down from. 

Bellamy's not one to back down either, so he pretends his heart isn't racing as much as it is, and he arches an eyebrow right back. “If you say so.” 

It's all fun and games until he's actually laying her back on their bed and she hooks her fingers into his collar, dragging him down with her. That's when his care for a challenge goes out the window, all his bravado escaping him in one fell swoop as she blinks up at him with those eyes of hers. His mouth is incredibly dry, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders, and he can feel her thighs gripping his hips, her ankles locking behind his back. 

This, precisely  _ this,  _ has been a scenario that's crossed his mind multiple times since he's come to the realization that he's gone on her. 

She doesn't say anything. He thinks that she can't, just like he can't, because the moment is heavy with all things they haven't said before. 

She just lifts her hand and slides it around the back of his neck, carding her fingers up into his curls, gently guiding his face closer to hers. He goes with it, carefully leaning down, bracing himself for what comes next. Because he  _ knows  _ what comes next, and he's not stupid enough to think that it won't mean the world to him. It's going to make a complete mess of him, there's no doubt about it, and he can't help but close his eyes and want it. 

Superficially, it's just a simple kiss. His lips brush hers, warm and soft, then she leans up into it. Adding pressure, moving closer, drawing him in. Just two mouths pressed together and two people sharing a kiss that is practically innocent in its entirety.

But, in truth, it's so much more than that. 

It's like stars explode in his mind, supernovas breaking apart, overtaken by their own fire. He'd thought he was gone on her  _ before…  _ Oh no, this is it, this is what pushes it all the way. He kisses her and tastes  _ home,  _ kisses her and never wants to stop, kisses her and loses himself completely—and, miraculously, he feels entirely whole.

Her hand not in his hair slides around his shoulders, yanking him all the way down on top of her, and she breaks the kiss to press her forehead to his. For a long moment, they simply breathe, wrapped up together. They don't speak, but they don't have to. Bellamy just closes his eyes and basks in the moment. 

“That day,” Clarke whispers, “when—when Madi came home bleeding and you came outside, that's when I knew. When you held me, I realized.” 

Bellamy presses his lips to hers briefly, relishing in the fact that he can. “Clarke, that was  _ last year.”  _

“I know,” Clarke says with a weak chuckle. 

“You're very good at hiding your feelings, even from me, which is a problem. I thought I knew you better than that,” Bellamy mumbles. 

Clarke makes a small sound, her hand slipping from his hair to cup his cheek. “No, you do. I was just being very,  _ very  _ careful. I didn't—I don't want to lose you, Bellamy. I won't survive that.” 

Bellamy opens his eyes slowly, seeing that she's already staring at him. He thinks about the Clarke Griffin he's always known, the one who always had a knack for survival, no matter what it costs her. It makes sense that she'd hide her own feelings in fear of things going wrong—because things always do. Her survival instincts kicked in yet again, probably without her even knowing, all because she can't lose him anymore than he can lose her. 

The difference between them? Bellamy had known from the start that he wouldn't lose her because of his feelings. But how is she supposed to know that? Every person she's ever allowed herself to love is dead—Finn and Lexa. It's sad, but he gets it, gets _her._

“I'm not going anywhere,” Bellamy vows, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “I'll stay forever.” 

Clarke swallows thickly. “That's an oxymoron. Stay forever. No one can stay forever, Bellamy.” 

“As long as I'm breathing,” Bellamy amends, lips curling up, “I'm yours.” 

“When did you know?” Clarke asks him softly, searching his gaze with her own. “What made you realize?” 

Bellamy chuckles roughly. “You were organizing your medicine cabinet, humming and dancing a little.” 

Clarke blinks. “That's it?” 

“Yeah,” Bellamy murmurs, “that was it.” 

Her grip tightens around him as she surges up to kiss him with more force this time, and his eyes flutter shut. He gives a little grunt when she deepens the kiss and digs her ankles into the back of his legs, urging him to get closer, as close as he can. 

They don't talk after that because neither of them can get a word in edgewise, too sucked into the moment, their interest focused solely on each other. It's not necessarily rough, but he grips her tighter than he means to by complete accident, swept up in her. Their touches hike up in intensity, growing sharper, sloppier, more desperate. 

It's been  _ so long.  _

He can't help it. This just feels so good, and the mere idea of going slow is like contemplating undergoing torture. He's not stopping if she isn't, and she  _ definitely  _ isn't. In fact, she's the first to nonverbally suggest they get undressed, which she does by ripping away from him with a heaving chest and yanking insistently at his shirt. 

It's a rush-job to get naked, to press together as close as possible, to breathe each other in and lose themselves along the way. Bellamy has never seen Clarke's eyes cloudy with desire, never heard her gasp like this, never felt her shudder in his arms, but he finds out  _ very  _ quickly that he likes it. Loves it, even. 

After five years of no sex and sporadic moments of lonely, unsatisfying release on his own, he's very aware that he's not going to last long. What  _ does  _ come as a surprise is that Clarke is in much the same predicament as him with one  _ slight  _ difference. She needs a little bit of an adjustment period because she hasn't had sex with a man since Finn, which Bellamy gives her, going still and kissing her slowly until she relaxes and urges him to move. By then, he's already a trembling mess and barely keeping it together. 

It feels so ridiculously good that his mind is utterly silent. He's not aware of much besides the feeling of her body beneath his hands and mouth and the way her body draws him in, warm and perfect. The only thing that makes this better is the fact that it's  _ her,  _ and he loves her so much that it envelops him. 

He would like to exist in this moment for the rest of his life, stay forever despite the oxymoron that it is, but all good things come to an end. This comes to a rather quick one, which would be embarrassing if Clarke hadn't already ensured that she'd find release by reaching in between her legs—something that hadn't gone unnoticed and also pushed him even closer to the edge. He comforts himself with the thought that they have time, that they'll be doing this again whenever they want, that they can learn each other in length later. For this, right now, it's perfect.

Bellamy kisses her through it, holding on so tight that he'll probably leave bruises in the shape of his fingers on her skin, not that she minds in the least. She just pulls him closer, gripping him just as hard, riding the relief and pleasure out along with him. 

After, he sags down on top of her for a long time, his head pillowed by her chest. Clarke runs her fingers through his curls, and he closes his eyes as his breathing evens out. Like this, he feels like he's in a bubble of bliss, and he never wants it to pop. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke whispers, poking his cheek. 

He grunts, cracking open an eye to look at her smiling face. “Don't suggest we get up.” 

“We need to get up,” Clarke tells him immediately, not apologetic in the least. 

“Why?” Bellamy groans and drops off a kiss to the top of her right breast. She chuckles and pushes his head back with a palm to his forehead, raising her eyebrows at him. He clicks his tongue. “Clarke, I don't know if you've realized, but I like to cuddle. I thought this was fairly obvious, but you should know that I particularly like it after sex.” 

Clarke smiles slightly. “I noticed. And listen, I'm fine with that, but we have a child to discuss.”

Bellamy's eyes get wide. “Shit.  _ Madi.”  _

“Madi,” Clarke confirms, nodding. 

Needless to say, they get up. Bellamy wracks his brain for ideas about how this is going to go, but he can't imagine how the situation will play out. He looks over at Clarke as they both get dressed in contemplative silence, and it's a comfort to see that she doesn't look overly worried. 

“So, what do we do?” Bellamy asks her. 

Clarke frowns at him. “We tell her.” 

“We what now?” Bellamy blurts out. “I mean, I don't want to keep it from her, but maybe we could figure out  _ how  _ we want the conversation to go.” 

“She'll be home in time for dinner,” Clarke says calmly, raising her eyebrows. “We have time to figure it out until then. If not, we tell her.” 

Bellamy concedes her point, nodding and following her out the door. He nearly barrels her right over her because she comes to a sudden halt out on the porch. At first, he's not sure why, but then he sees it. 

It being their child calmly sitting at one of the outside tables, munching on some fruit as she draws. So, as it turns out, they do  _ not  _ have time to figure it out. 

“Madi,” Bellamy says as they slowly approach her, and he's not sure what to say next because Madi looks up at them and arches an eyebrow. 

“When did you get home, Madi?” Clarke asks slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Madi looks between them, seemingly sensing that something is going on. She sits her pencil down. “Uh, just a few minutes ago. I gathered some fruit. Want some?” When they share a look and don't respond, she looks a little unsure. “What did I do? I got home before dark, I finished my lessons, and I—” 

“You're not in trouble,” Bellamy says quickly. He sits down across from Madi with Clarke sinking down beside him, and he clears his throat. “Clarke and I just want to talk to you about something.” 

Madi narrows her eyes. “Okay…” 

“About  _ us,”  _ Clarke clarifies, gesturing between herself and Bellamy. 

“Are you two done being weird?” Madi asks, plucking another berry from her satchel and popping it in her mouth. She looks between them. “Seriously, you two have been acting funny lately. What's going on?” 

“So, you know we care about each other,” Bellamy starts, watching Madi nod. “Um, Clarke and I realized that we...care about each other  _ a lot  _ more than we thought.” 

Madi makes a face, as if they're obtuse. “Yeah, obviously. What, did you forget or something?” 

This is very,  _ very  _ hard. He looks over at Clarke, who looks as lost as he does. It's not like Madi doesn't know about the concept of love and couples. Through stories about Octavia and Lincoln, Kane and Abby, Miller and Jackson, Monty and Harper, even Murphy and Emori...they've explained to her what it means when people are together. She doesn't really care about most relationship-parts of the stories, though she likes Lincoln and Octavia, and she thinks it's cool that Clarke had a thing with Niylah, which she'd found out about when Bellamy accidentally teased Clarke for it once in front of her. So, it's not like she's not going to understand when they explain it to her, but it's proving to be difficult. 

“No,” Bellamy says slowly, “we didn't forget.” 

“We're together,” Clarke finally says, not usually one for subtlety when something needs to be said. She just gets it done, like always. 

Madi nods. “I know. But what do you need to tell me? You're not—” Her eyes widen and she leans forward, whispering now. “There's no  _ baby,  _ right?” 

That also had been a hard conversation to have. She'd asked where babies came from, all because Bellamy had explained that he was there when his mother gave birth to Octavia. She'd looked him dead in his eyes and said, “So how did Octavia get  _ in  _ your mom?” 

Bellamy nearly had a damn heart attack. Clarke had thought it was hilarious at the time, especially when he'd tripped over a shaky explanation. She let it go on for longer than necessary before stepping in and explaining it rather simply and with clinical terms, not keeping the truth from her. 

So, Madi knowing how babies happen isn't a surprise. The fact that she thinks they've made one  _ is.  _

“What?” Bellamy blurts out. “No! God, Madi, no. There's no baby. Why would—what?  _ What?”  _

Clarke clears her throat. “Madi, me and Bellamy only just got together. It's—it's very new.” 

Madi wrinkles her nose. “Aren't you married?” 

_ “What?”  _ Clarke leans back, her eyes wide. She shakes her head frantically. “Madi, we literally  _ just  _ decided to get together. Why would you think we were married?”

“I dunno,” Madi mutters, looking between them in blatant confusion. “I just always thought that. So, wait, you only got together  _ today?”  _

“Yes,” Bellamy answers slowly. 

Madi snorts. “What took you so long?” 

Bellamy bites his lip to try and hold back his slightly delirious laughter, but it's no use. Without meaning to, he reaches up to scrub a hand across his forehead and breaks out into ridiculous chuckles. Clarke snorts from beside him, then claps a hand over her mouth, and she doesn't last long before she's laughing right along with him. Madi looks at them like they've officially lost it, but they laugh so hard that they wheeze, their hands reaching out so they can twine their fingers together. 

It isn't until he's calm enough to only be chuckling every other breath that Bellamy manages to look at Madi and say, “You know, I have no idea.” 

* * *

“Raven, we've been waiting on you all day. I don't know why. It could take a couple of days or weeks for you to manage the trip, but we're still…” 

As Clarke trails off, Bellamy reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, drawing her closer into his side. He gently takes the radio from her hand and inhales slowly. He stares up at the stars. 

“Raven,” he murmurs, “it's safe to come down. So, we'll see you when you make it to the ground.” 

Clarke takes the radio back, taking a deep breath and looking up at the night sky. “We'll be waiting.” 

Bellamy thinks, with desperation,  _ may we meet again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They did it, y'all. About damn time. I've been trying to get them to hook up since chapter one, tbh, but they're stubborn. It only took over 70k to get here. Y'all are some real troopers, lemme just say that 😂 
> 
> Also, yes, you'll get some more defined smut later, but this felt like it needed to be more emotional than ~sexy~ so to speak. Anyway, if y'all enjoyed it, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I really, REALLY love them. 
> 
> With that, I'll see y'all Next Friday ;) 
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


	7. Year Six + Seven Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, folks, here we are yet again. I have a lot I could say here, but I'm just gonna give you a few head's up's and keep it moving. I'll talk more in the end chapter notes. First head's up, there is more explicit smut in this chapter, nothing overly heavy, though! And....that's about the only head's up I need to give, I think. So, uh, yeah... 
> 
> Enjoy :D

For the first couple of weeks after year five turns into year six, Clarke does nothing but wait for the sight of the others coming down to the ground. 

She takes the Rover out into an open area that anyone smart—and Raven certainly is—would aim to land, staring up at the sky for hours. Sometimes, Bellamy and Madi will come with her, but they stay back at the Village just as frequently. 

Clarke gets it, gets why it's hard for Bellamy. He can't get to his sister and that weighs on him. Having his hope crushed every day takes a toll, and she doesn't blame him for taking breaks from it. She can't, though. She has to have hope because the idea of losing it isn't just being crushed, it's the final blow. She'd rather be knocked down every day than knocked out for good, so to speak. 

And yet, as each day slides into the next, she stops staying and waiting around so long. She stops radioing Raven and starts thinking there's no point. Then, one day, she doesn't make her way to the Rover, and she stays home with Madi and Bellamy. That night, when she lays down in Bellamy's arms, she cries herself right to sleep. 

Clarke comes to the conclusion that this will be all there is for the rest of her life. In some ways, that doesn't hurt so badly. She has Bellamy, and they're perfectly happy together. Being with him is everything she didn't know she wanted, and not a day goes by that she's not thankful they took the leap. 

But what about Madi? What happens when they get old and die? She'll be all alone, and no one deserves that fate. It's not a question of whether she'll be able to live off the land and survive long past their deaths, because she most certainly will. It's a question of if she'll even  _ want  _ to, and that's not something Clarke wants to think about. It rips her up inside. 

All they can do is give Madi the life she deserves, make her happy and strong while they're still here to do so. It's their only choice, and Clarke sees the irony in being back to that all over again. 

She doesn't let Madi see any of this, however, and there are days where her hope burns anew. She'll just wake up and think  _ today is the day,  _ but it never seems to be, so the cycle continues. 

Life isn't bad, overall. In fact, she's incredibly lucky and she knows it. It's the happiest she's been in a long,  _ long  _ time. She thinks that this happiness will last, despite the fact that no one ever comes. A small part of her is thankful that they don't, not yet, because all of this feels too perfect to change. As much as she misses her friends and her mom, as much as she wishes Bellamy could hug his little sister again, she realizes that Madi and Bellamy are her people now, and for them, she would do absolutely  _ anything.  _

They're safe, they're loved, and they're doing more than just surviving. It's more than she could ever hope for. So, she looks to the sky and waits, but she doesn't lose herself among the stars. 

* * *

“You busy?” 

Clarke shoots Bellamy a narrow-eyed glance. “I  _ am  _ busy, yes. Why?” 

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asks, leaning his hip against the table and tapping his fingers to it. There's a look in his eye that Clarke knows well by now. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says warningly, “I have to rip the leaves off these plants for my stock. We're getting low again, and I keep putting it off.” 

Bellamy purses his lips for a moment. “Sounds like tomorrow's problem.” 

“It's  _ today’s  _ problem,” Clarke insists. 

“Ah, come on.” Bellamy grins at her and steps to the side, sidling up behind her and dragging his hands down her sides slowly. He presses his chest to her back, lightly kissing her neck. “I'll take Madi out tomorrow for an hour and give you all the time you want to pluck leaves at your heart's content.” 

Clarke can feel the scruff Bellamy is letting grow back in scrape against her bare shoulder. “An hour?” she asks softly, amused. 

Bellamy hums, the sound low in his chest, making her press her thighs together. “Even two, if you want.” 

“Maybe it can be tomorrow's problem,” Clarke murmurs, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips trail a warm path up her throat. 

“It's so easy to change your mind these days.” Bellamy chuckles warmly and leans back, grabbing her hand and turning around. He raises his eyebrows at her and starts tugging her towards the house. “If I knew it was this simple, I would have made a move a lot sooner. You used to be so stubborn.” 

Clarke arches an eyebrow and plants her feet, going solid when he tries to tug her some more. “What, you don't still think I am?” 

“Sure,” Bellamy allows, stepping forward to kiss her forehead, then her cheek, then her nose. She can't help but soften when he presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and he snorts when he pulls away. “I'm just saying that I know how to work around it now.” 

“I'm more than happy to go back to my plants,” Clarke says, though she knows it's an empty threat. The throb between her legs and the fondness in her heart won't let her. 

Bellamy backtracks immediately. “No, no, we agreed that's for tomorrow. I'm going to shut up before you decide to prove me wrong.” 

“Smart,” Clarke says with a chuckle. 

“But,” Bellamy declares as he begins tugging her back towards the house, “even you have to admit that younger Bellamy would have probably had it easier if he would have had sex with you. Right?” 

“Sure,” Clarke agrees, “if younger Clarke would have let him. She was kinda busy.” 

Bellamy grins at her. “Ah, but we just established that I'm good at changing your mind.” 

Clarke laughs softly as he leads her up the steps, pushing open the door and tugging her inside. She shuts it on her way in, humming when he grabs her face and ducks down to kiss her firmly. She melts into him, flutters kickstarting around her heart, her arms naturally coming up around his shoulders. 

No matter how many times they've done this, it never really gets old. It always,  _ always  _ feels good. So good, sometimes, that she wonders how she made it those first five years without it. Because, honestly, Bellamy  _ really  _ knows what the hell he's doing. 

Of course, with more time, they've figured each other out very well. She knows that he likes it when she sucks marks into his neck, knows that he's ticklish behind his knees, knows all the shapes of his scars. He's learned precisely how she likes to be touched, learned that she enjoys long kisses, learned the best way to make her moan. Every time feels like the first time and like they've been doing it for years, but all at once—fresh and exciting, but like a dance they took the time to learn all the steps to. 

They have all types of sex. Rushed sex because Madi could come home at any time. Sex in other houses late at night while Madi sleeps on in their house. Rough sex that leaves her pleasantly achy the next morning. Slow, intimate sex that seems to leave a brand on her soul. Bored sex because they don't have anything else to do, and why not? Fun, playful sex that's full of laughter and warmth. Even lazy sex where there's no rush and not a lot of effort. And Clarke loves  _ every single one.  _

Bellamy appears to be very much in the mood today because he reaches down and hooks his hands under her thighs to bodily lift her up, kissing her all the while. He carries her over to the table, sitting her down and sliding her shirt up slightly to rub his hands over her exposed sides. Clarke hums in approval, arching against him and using her legs to drag him closer. 

“Ah! My eyes!” 

Clarke nearly crawls out of her skin, ripping away from Bellamy with a gasp. Their heads snap over in sync to see Madi standing in the doorway, her hand shielding her eyes. Clarke's heart is still racing and she crosses her legs when Bellamy steps from between them hastily, still half-behind her legs to hide himself from Madi. It's clear they're both mortified, their fingers digging into each other in alarm, and one look at Bellamy tells her that he's blushing as much as she is right about now. 

In fairness, it could have been so much  _ worse.  _ Once they get going, it doesn't really take long for them to get in the thick of it, but still. 

“Madi,” Clarke says, wincing when her voice comes out a mortified squeak. She clears her throat and wills herself to get a grip. “Sorry, we were—um, what are you doing here?” 

Madi drops her hand from her face and stares at her flatly. “I  _ live  _ here.” 

“I—yes, I know that,” Clarke mumbles, straightening up and sliding down from the table. She pats Bellamy's arm as she takes a solid step from him, and he covers his face with his hands. “I just mean that you are usually gone for, uh, a lot longer.” 

“Is this what you two do?” Madi looks between them with clear judgement on her face. “The moment I leave, you two do this? On the  _ table,  _ too? Come on.”

Clarke crosses her arms and takes a steady breath. Okay, they're the adults here. “No, that's not—you know Bellamy and I are together, so sometimes we have sex, yes. Not—not on the table, though.” 

Madi looks pointedly at the table. 

“We would have made it to the bed,” Bellamy offers weakly, still not quite meeting either of their eyes. 

“Uh huh. Look, I don't care about that,” Madi mutters, rolling her eyes. “Gross, whatever. You're right, I did come back early for a reason.” She gives Clarke a significant look. “It happened.” 

“What happened?” Clarke asks immediately, her embarrassment seeping away. Even Bellamy straightens up, suddenly alert. 

Madi points down.  _ “It.”  _

It takes a moment, but when Clarke realizes, she jolts in surprise. “Oh! You're menstrual. You got your—oh, okay, I see.” 

Bellamy immediately moves over to the medicine cabinet with a frown. “Clarke, that plant out there wasn't for the cramps, right?” 

“It was,” Clarke says with a wince, feeling guilty. “We have a bit more, so just go ahead and give it to her. I'll go gather some more later.”

“Uh, Clarke,” Madi says warily, clearing her throat as her gaze darts around, “can you go today, and can we stop by the lake? I, um, made a mess.” 

Clarke's heart pangs at the discomfort on Madi's face, and she's weirdly emotional that Madi has gotten so much older. She's nearly twelve, so it makes complete sense that she'd get her menstrual now. Thankfully, Clarke is fairly open and honest, so Madi has been aware of the natural bodily function for years, but that doesn't make it any easier. 

“Just take her to the lake,” Bellamy says easily, offering Madi a quick smile before focusing back on Clarke. “I'll go gather the plants while you two are out. Better offer?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Clarke agrees instantly. She walks over to Madi, smoothing a hand over her hair and leading her to the door. “Come on, let's go get you cleaned up.” 

“You'll teach me how to do the pads, right?” Madi asks as they head out the door. 

“Of course,” Clarke says, throwing Bellamy a quick glance that speaks volumes as they head outside.

God, she loves him so much. 

* * *

Clarke watches the flames dance, hisses and pops sounding out as they dance higher. It's a little cold out, so they're all huddled together—Clarke's back pressed to Bellamy's chest, Madi carelessly lying sprawled out over their legs. 

Sometimes, when things get stifling, the three of them will lay outside and talk. Not necessarily about anything specific, just whatever crosses their mind. Madi often wants to hear the stories of the others that she grew up on. Octavia is still her favorite, which  _ still  _ pleases Belllamy, even after all these years. She also thinks Murphy is funny, which Clarke thinks is apt and Bellamy won't admit to agreeing to. 

They haven't said much tonight. Clarke simply watches the fire, almost mesmerized by it, and Bellamy presses idle kisses to her shoulder while playing mindlessly with her bracelet. His free hand twists in Madi's hair, creating light knots that untangle easily, and Madi just stares up at the stars. 

She seems lost in thought, so when she speaks, they're not prepared for it. But nothing could prepare them for what she says, which is, “I can't remember my mother's face anymore.” 

Clarke blinks in surprise, ripping her gaze from the flames to look down at Madi. When she registers the words, pain joins her shock. It's the first time in over five years that Madi has ever directly spoken about either of her parents, and the first words absolutely yank at Clarke's heart strings. When she glances at Bellamy, she sees that he looks equally stricken. 

“Madi,” Clarke whispers. 

“I was going to draw her today, but then I realized that I couldn't remember her face,” Madi murmurs, still staring up at the night sky. “I remember other things, but not her face.” 

“Do you want to talk about the other things?” Bellamy asks carefully. 

Madi doesn't even blink. “No, I don't.” 

“I'm sorry you can't remember her face,” Clarke says gently, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I'm sure she was beautiful, just like you.” 

Madi doesn't reply. It's obvious that she won't be saying anymore on the subject, and her refusal to talk about it reads loud and clear. Clarke doesn't know what to say, how to help. She knows, logically, that Madi had parents before her and Bellamy, but Madi  _ never  _ talks about them—this is literally the first time. Clarke can't help but think of herself and Bellamy as Madi's parents, because that's what they are. 

“I don't remember my mother's face either,” Bellamy suddenly says. “It's fuzzy when I try to think about it, and I wasn't even young when she died. I haven't forgotten her hugs, or how soft her hair was, just like Octavia's. I can't remember her voice, but I have this feeling that it was soft, that she could sing.” 

“Can Octavia sing?” Madi asks quietly. 

Bellamy huffs a soft laugh. “Better than I can, but nothing overly fancy.” 

“Do you think she'll ever get out of that bunker?” Madi mumbles, turning her head to look directly at them, so youthful and so wise at the same time. 

“I don't know,” Bellamy admits gruffly. 

Clarke smiles and reaches out to stroke Madi's hair, looking down at her. “We hope so.” 

Madi turns away and looks back up at the stars. “And the others? Do you think they'll come back down from Space?” 

“I'm sure Raven is working on it now,” Bellamy tells her, his voice fond. 

“I'm sorry they left you two behind,” Madi mutters, her lips tipping down at the corners. 

“We're not,” Clarke replies softly, “because then we wouldn't have ever found you.” 

Madi's frown slips away, replaced by a small smile. Bellamy picks up a strand of her hair and uses it to tickle her nose. She giggles and bats halfheartedly at his hand, and it quickly dissolves into them tickling her to hear her bright laughter. When she gasps and  _ really  _ pushes their hands away, they stop and pull her a little closer, falling into peaceful silence. 

Clarke finds herself thinking of her mother, of the lengths that she often went to for Clarke. Used to, she didn't understand how her mother could do the things she did and was  _ so angry  _ about them—and, to an extent, she still is—but she gets it now. With Madi curled up in her lap, she understands. 

There's nothing that Clarke wouldn't do for Madi, even if Madi didn't agree—her safety and survival comes first every time. If, god forbid, something happened and Clarke had to make a hard choice to save Madi's life, she knows that she would do it without hesitation. She's never loved anyone or anything the way she loves Madi. 

If it was Madi about to climb into a radiation chamber that could kill her, she'd smash it, too. If Madi was shoved into a leader position, she would try her absolute best to stop it, too. If Madi had done something unforgivable, such as let a bomb drop on a whole village of people, she would take that secret to her grave, too. If Madi had done everything she has ever done, and Bellamy for that matter, then Clarke would  _ still  _ love her and do everything to make sure that she would survive. 

It's the unconditional love of a parent, a love that Clarke never fully understood until she felt it herself, and she'd bet that Bellamy understands things about his own mother because he feels the same. 

“Will you tell me a story again?” Madi asks. 

Clarke hums. “Which one do you want to hear this time?” 

“What about...someone new?” Madi looks over at them with a curious gaze. “I've heard all the other stories, but what about one you haven't told me?”

“Like who?” Clarke shares a glance with Bellamy, surprised. It's not often that Madi doesn't jump at the chance to hear Octavia’s story, or Murphy's. 

“I don't know,” Madi says in exasperation. “How am I supposed to know if you haven't told me?” 

“There was a girl,” Bellamy murmurs, his tone solemn, making Clarke look over at him wearily. 

Madi perks up. “A girl? Did she come down to the ground with the hundred?” 

“She did,” Bellamy confirms softly. “She was young, just like you. Most of the other bad kids around her were older, so a lot of them ignored her or were mean to her. She lost her parents, she was scared, and she was all alone.” 

Clarke's heart twists in her chest. 

“Why was she scared?” Madi mumbles, her gaze fixed on Bellamy with focus. “The Grounders?” 

“That, probably, but she was scared because she was having bad dreams.” Bellamy swallows thickly and smooths out a knot in Madi’s hair. “Her dreams made her sad, and she—she just wanted the pain of them to go away.” 

Madi swallows. “What happened?” 

“I talked to her,” Clarke whispers, closing her eyes as she recalls the memory. “I tried to help her, but I—I was very busy back then, and I didn't realize how bad these dreams were, how they affected her.”

Bellamy clears his throat, his words coming out gruff when he speaks. “So, I spoke to her next. I told her that if she slayed her demons while she was awake, then they would leave her alone while she slept.”

“Like you told me.” Madi blinks, frowning at him slightly. “But you said it differently.”

“That's because the little girl took my words to heart, and she decided that someone innocent was a demon she needed to slay,” Bellamy tells her quietly. “The man responsible for taking her parents away from her had a son.” 

“Wells,” Clarke croaks, “my best friend.”

Madi's face clears with understanding. “You told me he died. Did she…”

“Yes.” Bellamy nods. “She killed someone who didn't deserve it because she was in pain and she thought he was responsible. I—I didn't know that she would do that, didn't even really know what she considered her demons to be.” 

“What happened to her?” Madi asks, swallowing. 

Clarke releases a shaky breath. “For a while, we didn't know it was her that killed him. We—we thought it was Murphy.”

_ “Murphy?”  _ Madi blurts out in shock. 

Bellamy laughs weakly. “He was kind of an asshole back then. He's come a long way, trust me.” 

“People were mad at Murphy,  _ very  _ mad, and they did something bad to him,” Clarke says carefully, grimacing at the memory of Murphy being hung in the woods. “That's when she admitted that it was her, and because Murphy was an asshole and very upset about what just happened to him, he thought that she should get in trouble for it.” 

“So, she ran.” Bellamy takes a deep breath. “Me and Clarke ran with her, trying to keep her safe from danger and Murphy. Even though we were upset about Wells, we still wanted to help her.” 

Madi watches them in trepidation. “Did you? Help her, I mean.” 

“We tried.” Clarke's voice cracks, and she forces herself to smile when Madi looks at her. “We tried so,  _ so  _ hard to help her. But we couldn't.” 

“She died,” Madi whispers.

Bellamy nods. “Yes.” 

“That's why you changed what you said,” Madi realizes, her eyes wide. “You wanted to help me better than you helped her.” 

“Yes,” Bellamy says again, exhaling shakily. “So, you see, the moral of that story is...you can let your mistakes define you, or you can do better the next time you get the chance.” 

Madi slowly reaches out and pats his hand, then Clarke's, her eyes devastatingly serious as she looks between them. “What was her name?” 

“Charlotte,” Clarke says softly. “Her name was Charlotte.” 

“Next time,” Madi says, “tell me a happier story.”

Bellamy and Clarke weakly laugh at her soft joke, but their eyes stray to each other's. They don't say it out loud, but they both know that none of the stories they share are truly happy, not really. 

Still, when Bellamy says, “Happier story, coming right up,” and starts talking about Monty’s story, glossing over the horrible details like him killing his own mother and losing Jasper, Clarke doesn't contradict him. 

She leans back and listens. 

* * *

It takes nearly two years, but Bellamy gets around to making those dresses. Clarke can't believe it, but he  _ actually  _ does it, and he doesn't do it halfway either. No, he throws his entire being into it, just like he does most things because that's just how he  _ is.  _

He takes it very seriously, too. Often making her and Madi stop and stand still so he can wrap cloth around different parts of their bodies—chests, waists, stomachs. He's long since taught himself to sew, but he makes an effort to get the stitching on the inside rather than the outside. He puts large sticks next to their bodies to mark off how long the dresses will be, figures out how to dye the cloth, even tries to figure out a way to make pockets that look right because he's literally perfect in every way. 

So, when he gets close to being done, Clarke shaves her legs. And, though she knows it's not necessary, she finds herself actually  _ wanting  _ to. It's not for his benefit, as he's seen her completely naked while she hasn't shaved in nearly a year, but it  _ is  _ for her. 

It's stupid and it's not the kind of message she wants to send to Madi, but she really just wants to feel...pretty. It's been so long since she's actually had the urge to clean up nice and proper, and she thinks that wearing a dress could be good for that. 

She hasn't worn a dress since she knelt in front of Lexa, and that had been a Grounder dress made specifically for her. Although pretty in it's own way, she hadn't felt beautiful in it, probably because so many lives were hanging in the balance at the time. 

Because she goes off to the lake to actually go all out, Madi tags along. When Clarke explains what she plans on doing, Madi is  _ ecstatic.  _

“You mean you're actually going to fix your hair?” Madi exclaims, her eyes lighting up. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Gee, thanks.” 

“No, I just meant—” Madi winces, baring her teeth in an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. I just thought you meant you were going to do something different with it, like add braids or something.” 

“I might put some of it up,” Clarke says, pursing her lips. “Maybe.” 

Madi's eyes light up. “Can I do it? And then maybe later we can dye some of it again?” 

Clarke chuckles. “Sure, Madi.” 

Somehow, the next two hours dissolve into them pampering each other. While Clarke shaves her legs, Madi cleans off in the lake behind her. Clarke has her back to Madi, respecting her privacy, so she just listens to the sounds of splashing as she carefully glides the knife over her legs covered in salve. Clarke takes to the water after while Madi sits on the bank, her back turned as she finger-brushes out her tangles. 

Clarke has kept her hair relatively short for the past four years or so. It's easier to manage, plus her hair is naturally thick and unkempt, so she likes that she doesn't have to fight with it all the time. She doesn't have enough length to braid it, though, minus little braids that Madi likes to see her do. 

When she's fully clean, she gets out and gets dressed. Being clean is a luxury she's had for years now, one that she doesn't take for granted—she'll never forget the dirty, gritty feeling of the past on the ground when she just didn't have the  _ time.  _ There's no grime under her nails, no dirt on her face, no tangles in her hair, and she absolutely  _ relishes  _ in it. 

“Come, sit here,” Madi orders with mock sternness, her eyes bright with excitement. She has twine that they use to pull up their hair laid out beside her, and she gestures for Clarke to sit in front of her. “I'm thinking we put the top-half up and let some waves hang down. What do you think?” 

Clarke smiles. “I think that's a great idea.” 

Madi makes small, happy noises as she gets to work, her fingers delving into Clarke's hair. She always likes things like this, and Clarke is more than happy to indulge her. It feels really nice, almost putting her to sleep from the relaxing feeling of someone playing with her hair. Now that Bellamy does it as they drift off in bed together, it's pretty much a sign to her brain at this point that she should be getting sleepy when someone does it. 

Bellamy even lets Madi play with his hair when the mood strikes her. He leaves her to her whims, telling her to have at it, at whatever she can do with his shorter hair. Once, he walked around all day with four little pigtails, making Clarke and Madi laugh fondly every time he was in their vicinity. 

“What?” he'd say, blinking innocently and hiding a grin as he touched his hair. “You don't like it? This is my new look, I'm telling you.” 

He'd ended up taking his hair down when it gave him a headache, but he stayed faithful to the joke for most of the day because Bellamy Blake rarely does things halfway, after all. 

“Okay,” Madi says, drawing her out of the memory, “I think you're done. Look at me.” 

Clarke does, arching an eyebrow. “Is it to your liking, or do you have more ideas?” 

“No, no, it's perfect.” Madi beams, pressing her hands together and lifting her fingers to her lips, shaking her head slightly. “Don't even  _ breathe  _ the wrong way and mess this up. It looks so pretty.” 

“Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.” Clarke laughs and pushes to her feet. “Now, about your hair. What would you like to request today?” 

Madi grins sheepishly. “Braids,” she says, just like she always says. She likes her braids. 

So, they swap places, Clarke taking over to add braids to Madi’s hair. She goes all out, adding more than usual, letting them fall over her shoulder. As they talk, Madi idly plays with them, her voice calm and soft, and Clarke feels at peace. They don't talk about anything too important, just whatever crosses their minds at the time, a simple conversation. 

It's moments like these that remind Clarke how incredibly lucky she is. Lucky that she stayed behind, lucky that she gets to see Madi grow up, lucky that she gets these quiet moments with those she loves. 

Afterwards, they get up and head back to the Village, walking arm-in-arm and laughing the whole way. When they get back, Bellamy is ducked underneath one of the outside tables, likely fixing the wobbly side that's been bugging him for days. He doesn't even stick his head out as they walk past. 

“Dresses are inside!” he calls out, his voice muffled. 

Madi grips Clarke's arm. “Can we change into them now?  _ Please?”  _

“I—well…” Clarke can't really see a reason in delaying the process, so she chuckles and shrugs. “Sure, I don't really see why not. Come on.” 

Bellamy really doesn't do anything halfway. They're not the prettiest dresses in the world, and Clarke knows that, logically, but they're very well done for what he had to work with. He'd left Clarke's black, but he'd made Madi’s blue—probably using the blue flowers that grow at the base of the trees. They're simple dresses, overall, just something for them to slip on. He'd made the straps about two inches thick, and both of their dresses flow instead of cling. The only real differences are the colors, the fact that Clarke's neckline plunges a bit, and that Madi's seems to stop around her knees while Clarke's stops above her own. 

Clarke can't help but tear up a bit at seeing Madi in a dress, her hair all done up, her eyes bright as she does a little spin and watches the flowy parts raise up and sway in the air. She looks over at Clarke with a large smile, moving her hips from side-to-side. 

“How do I look?” Madi asks playfully. 

Clarke has to clear her throat twice before she can speak normally. “So beautiful, as always, and so  _ grown.  _ Madi, you're growing up so much.” 

“I know.” Madi laughs a little, not seeming to see this as an emotional thing like Clarke does. She flicks her gaze over Clarke and giggles. “You look so pretty. Bellamy isn't going to take his eyes off of you. Well, he doesn't  _ already,  _ but you know what I mean.” 

“It's just a dress,” Clarke says with a laugh, reaching out to grab Madi's hand and make her do a twirl, her chest warm as she watches. “And you, my little  _ natblida,  _ look perfect in yours.” 

Madi beams at her. “I should learn to train in it. I bet I could. It would probably be easier.” She steps back and kicks her leg out, raising her eyebrows at Clarke pointedly. “You see that? That range of motion? I could kick ass in a dress. How cool is that?” 

“Very cool,” Clarke agrees indulgently, laughing a little as Madi starts tugging on her hand. “Oh, and where are we going now?” 

“Outside to show Bellamy.” Madi shoots her a look like  _ duh,  _ ripping open the door and dragging Clarke out on the porch. “Bellamy! Come look how pretty we are!” 

“You're always pretty,” Bellamy calls from beneath the table, but he crawls out from under it anyway.

He looks a little haphazard at the moment, his curls going all over the place as they usually do, his clothes a little dirty from the ground. But, as always, his eyes are warm and his smile is bright, and Clarke has that natural instinct to go over and touch him—push her hands into his hair, press her lips to his, melt into the circle of his arms. 

His smile slips off his face when he looks first at Madi, blinking rapidly, and Clarke watches him get a little emotional the same way she did. His smile comes back after a moment, soft and fond and sweet, and he pushes to his feet, turning his gaze to Clarke. 

Once again, his smile slips off his face. He blinks once, hard, and then doesn't blink again for a long time, as if he doesn't want to look away. The warmth in his eyes turn molten, and Clarke pinpoints the exact moment that he decides he would like to rip the dress off of her—his fingers twitch and he balls his hands into fists, taking a steadying breath. 

There is a child present, so he doesn't voice his thoughts, but Clarke picks up on them as clearly as she would if he had spoken them. She's seen him look at her like this before, dress or no dress, as if he's abruptly overcome with the urge to take her away and find some time alone to worship her body for a few hours. She's become quite fond of this look. 

“Told ya,” Madi whispers to Clarke, giggling a little before skipping forward to hop off the porch. She launches herself at Bellamy, hugging him tight. “Thank you for the dresses. We love them.” 

“Me too, kiddo,” Bellamy murmurs, dragging his gaze over Clarke slowly, “me too.” 

“We should eat,” Clarke says in amusement, lips curling up as Bellamy's gaze follows her wherever she walks. “Madi, you're on clean up duty.” 

Madi balks, pulling away from Bellamy. “What,  _ why?”  _

“Because she said so,” Bellamy says simply, nudging Madi’s shoulder and winking. “Don't worry, I cooked tonight so there won't be that much of a mess.” 

“You can wash this, right?” Madi asks, grabbing the skirt of her dress and swishing it from side-to-side, her eyes bright. 

Bellamy nods. “Yeah, of course, but the blue will eventually fade. Sorry, there's not much I can really do about that.” 

Madi grins. “No, that's fine. It just means I can get it a little dirty. I'm  _ very  _ tempted to climb a tree.” 

“How about you don't do that,” Clarke suggests, moving over to lay out the stack of wooden bowls, throwing Madi a serious look. “What you can do is go grab our canteens for dinner.” 

“Fine,” Madi mutters, rolling her eyes. 

The split second that Madi disappears into the house, Bellamy is crowding behind Clarke with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. He puts his hands on her hips and whirls her around, pressing her back up against the edge of the table. He kisses her instantly as if he's drowning and she's his source of air, one hand sliding down to bunch up the skirt of her dress and skate his fingers up her outer thigh. 

Clarke inhales sharply, bracing one hand on the table behind her. The kiss is searing, making her body tingle and her mind cloudy. Warmth pools low in her stomach, and it's a pure gut-instinct to react without thinking, pushing her free hand up into his hair and moaning into his mouth. He ducks his head a moment later with a low groan, breaking the kiss with a harsh, raspy breath, and Clarke is already so swept up in it that she tries to drag him back in. 

“Madi,” Bellamy chokes out, pulling away and blinking slow like he's been hit in the head. “She'll—she's here. Madi is in the house.” 

Clarke nods. “Right.  _ Right.  _ I know that, I do. You should—we should—” She stops and clears her throat while gently pushing him back a few steps. “So, I take it that the dresses were a good idea?” 

“I've never seen you in a dress,” Bellamy mumbles, flicking his gaze over her. “You look as beautiful as you always do, but it would so  _ easy  _ to lift your skirt and just—” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Clarke croaks, her face feeling hot as she imagines that scenario playing out. 

Bellamy laughs, shaking his head, his voice sounding mystified and stunned when he speaks next. “Do you remember those first few months after we decided to get together fully?” 

Clarke does. Of course she does. She remembers waiting for all of it to wash away like a dream, remembers waking up in his arms and feeling that happy, squirming feeling in her chest, and she remembers how tentative they were in the beginning. During sex, the yearning and desire broke forth, especially when they first started doing it, and Clarke felt like she could never stop touching him. 

She watched him, and he watched her, and they did a lot of weighted staring at each other. He touched her every chance he got, even innocent touches, like the craving ran deep and he couldn't help himself. She returned the favor, and he was always on her mind, her thoughts turning to him over and over. It was that new, exciting feeling that had her strangely nervous and completely at ease all at once. 

With time, they've fallen into a rhythm that Clarke loves and appreciates with her entire being. But their start… She will always remember it fondly, looking back on the people they were then, almost cute in their fresh-faced desire for each other. He'd pick her a flower and she'd smell it—as if she hadn't known its scent for years—before wearing it in her hair for days. She'd kiss his cheek and feel it grow hot under her lips as he would duck his head, almost boyishly shy and adorable for no reason at all. Just those first few endearing stumbles of a relationship that made her feel a lot younger than she was, almost like she was a teenager before all the war and loss, the full brunt of love taking all her focus and giving her reprieve. 

“I remember,” Clarke says softly. 

Bellamy bites his lip for a moment, reaching up to softly caress her arm. “It feels like I look at you every day and fall all over again.” 

Clarke's heart does that funny stuttering thing in her chest that only he can make happen, and she swallows thickly. “Who would have thought? Bellamy Blake, the guy that the girls fell all over themselves for, falling all over himself for me.” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs, amused, “in case you didn't notice, I've been doing that for years. Many years, even before the last six.” 

“And me, the girl who never fell all over herself for you, doing it in the end  _ anyway.  _ What a funny, funny world it is,” Clarke says softly, stepping forward to catch his hand, brushing her thumb over his palm. She threads their fingers together. “I'm glad you like the dress, Bellamy.” 

“It's a nice dress,” Bellamy allows, dragging his gaze over her yet again, “but it has more to do with who is wearing it than anything else.” 

Clarke chuckles. “I get what you mean. I'd still want you in or out of a dress, too.” 

Bellamy raises his eyebrows, his grin becoming looser and more crooked, playful. “Don't think I won't make one for myself. I'd look  _ great  _ in a dress.” 

“Why are you two so weird?” Madi mutters, suddenly right next to them, her nose wrinkled. 

Clarke jolts and hisses out a sharp breath. “Dammit, Madi, what did we say about sneaking around?!” 

“I can't help it you two get so wrapped up in your weird flirting that you forget anyone else exists.” Madi rolls her eyes and dumps the canteens on the table, raising her eyebrows. “Can we eat now?” 

Clarke and Bellamy share a look, huffing out quiet laughs at their child's sass. Bellamy reaches out to poke her in her neck, then keeps poking her when she starts giggling and batting his hand away. It quickly dissolves into her screeching and running when he starts chasing her. Clarke watches them fondly, watches the way Bellamy playfully runs around the Village after Madi, watches the way Madi’s dress flows and waves as she darts around, her head tipped back as she laughs. Clarke watches and smiles, her heart so full in her chest that it threatens to burst. 

* * *

Madi retires to bed with a yawn, kissing Clarke on the cheek, then Bellamy. They watch her slip inside, still swinging her dress with a small smile. 

A beat passes. 

Clarke only makes it to her feet first because Bellamy stumbles a little in his haste to push away from the log they're sitting on. It's very stupid, Clarke knows that, but they still run to the house across the Village from theirs—the house farthest from Madi, that way she won't hear any stray noises. It's become a bit of a routine to slip into this unused house late at night when Madi is asleep in theirs. 

Just to steal some alone time and get lost in each other, this house works just fine. It has a semi-stable bed, but most of everything else is gone from where they took what resources they needed. That's perfectly fine for them; the bed is all they need. 

The moment Bellamy slams the door shut behind him, Clarke is surging forward to kiss him, her heart thundering in her chest. Bellamy has been watching her all night, rarely taking his eyes off of her, and he's slipped in short moments to touch her in a less than innocent way when Madi wasn't looking—his fingers sliding up her thigh, his lips brushing along her shoulder, teeth nipping. Clarke's been half-tense this whole time, waiting for the moment they could slip away and get to this. 

Not that she doesn't love Madi to death and want to spend time with her always, because she  _ does,  _ but it is nice to have some alone,  _ adult  _ time. 

“Bed,” Bellamy grunts against her mouth, his hand sliding up to cup her breast through the dress, flicking his thumb over the perked nipple. 

Clarke rips away with a heavy breath, her head spinning a little bit. She fists her hand in his shirt and yanks him from the door,  _ shoving  _ him back to the bed. “Great idea,” she says breathlessly. 

Bellamy makes a sound of approval when he plops down on the bed and Clarke immediately climbs into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, hands reaching up to delve into his hair. She levers herself up and kisses him hard, shuddering when his hand slips between her legs, easing up under her dress. 

“The access,” Bellamy murmurs as she pulls away to kiss mindlessly at his neck. He tilts his head back to whisper in her ear, his voice rough. “That's what I like about this dress, Clarke. It's easy to  _ touch  _ you.” 

He punctuates his words by pushing aside the loose fabric of her cleanest pair of underwear, pressing his knuckle against the bundle of nerves that make her whine. She clenches her fingers into his hair, going stiff as she breathes heavily against his neck, her eyes screwed shut. He hums, a growly amused sound that puts her farther on edge. 

“Bellamy,” she pants, her hips twitching against her will, rocking against his knuckle. It's not enough. 

“I got you.” Bellamy slides his free hand around her back, fingers draping over her shoulder to hold her still. With that, he unfurls his bent finger between her legs and starts rubbing in soft, quick circles. She muffles a moan into his shoulder, holding onto him for dear life. “I told you, I got you.” 

Realistically, Clarke  _ knows  _ that, but it doesn't stop her from feeling like she's about to fall apart. She's just so  _ aroused,  _ and she loves this feeling, the pressure of his fingers, the spike of pleasure that shocks her, the way the ecstasy builds until it makes her tremble as if she's about to explode. Bellamy knows how she likes it, knows how to push her over the edge, and he's scarily good at making her let go. 

He works her over until she arches into his arms and comes with a low moan, pressing her mouth against his shirt to muffle it. When she twitches, he stops, pulling his hand back because he knows she's not a fan of oversensitivity. Instead, he grabs her hips and pulls back to kiss her hard, pressing up into her leg to grind against her mindlessly. 

Clarke needs a moment, so she does what she does best and negotiates for more time. It's not that difficult, really, not with Bellamy. All it takes is sliding out of his lap, breaking the kiss with a slow smile, and hitting her knees in front of him. 

“Work with me here,” Clarke rasps, jerking her chin at his shirt while her hands go to his pants. 

Bellamy leans back slightly to ease his shirt over his head, lifting his hips to help her help him out of his pants. It's like a dance, both of them knowing what the other is going to do right before they do—she moves back so he can kick off his shoes, he wads up his pants so she has some padding to kneel on. That brief pause in passion is well-practiced, and it doesn't turn down the intensity in the least. 

She tucks the few waves hanging in her face behind her ears, and Bellamy watches her with bright, clear eyes. They don't look away from each other until she ducks her head and gets her mouth on him, and then all she can do is listen to him. He curses sharply and groans her name, his breathing getting even heavier. 

Clarke enjoys this part. It elicits the same heady, powerful feeling she's been guilty for enjoying before, but this time, there's no guilt and no lives lost. It's just the sound of Bellamy coming undone, his moans and whispered praise or pleas, his fingers fisting the cover or her hair, his pleasure that  _ she's _ giving him. 

He takes it until he can't anymore, gasping her name and dragging her up for a kiss, a sloppy one while he grips her tight. It's clear that he's trying to calm a bit, but she doesn't want that, she wants to keep going, to follow that line of bliss all the way to the end. So, she shuffles until she can lower herself onto him, wet and hot and clenching as she sinks down slowly. 

“Fucking  _ hell,  _ Clarke,” Bellamy hisses, his hands jerking down to grasp her hips, fingers digging in. 

Clarke leans back and pushes him back to the bed, one hand on his chest while her other grips his wrist hard. With that, she starts moving, rolling her hips and rocking back and forth, rising up and falling back down, all as he stares up at her with parted lips. She can feel the motion of her hips through the motion of his hand gripping them, the hand she's holding onto. He reaches up to grasp her neck, tugging her back down to kiss her fiercely. 

They eventually move, just because they usually do, and Clarke's not complaining. She's happy to ride Bellamy all night, but she's just as happy to have him take over. So, when he tugs her off of him and tosses her to the side, she lets him maneuver her the way he wants. Excitement sizzles in her when he urges her on her knees, pushing her down on her front and sliding his warm hand up the back of her thigh. 

“The dress was such a good idea,” Clarke chokes out, pressing her face to the bed as his fingers slip into her, his free hand hiking up the skirt of said dress. 

Bellamy makes a sound of agreement. “It really,  _ really  _ was. Touch yourself for me, Clarke.” 

She does as he says, shoving her arm beneath her body to reach between her legs, circling her fingers over herself slowly as his fingers slip away. She takes a sharp breath as he shifts behind her, getting on his knees, and that breath punches out of her as he slowly pushes into her from behind. 

Clarke can't help but moan, pressing her forehead into her forearm that's not between her own legs. She's breathing hard as he sets the pace, going slow at first as he murmurs nonsense that sounds like a mixture of Trigedasleng and English, though a good bit of what he says seems to be her name broken around groans. 

She's not making much sense herself, gasping out his name, urging him to go faster, which he does. He drags out of her and right back in, and she clenches around him, rubbing herself faster and faster. She's not aware of much besides how utterly amazing this feels and her mounting tension, building to one crescendo as he grips her hips and picks up the pace. 

“Don't stop, don't—don't—” Clarke whiteknuckles the covers as she finds release, clenching around him as he continues to rock in and out of her. She trembles as she falls apart, whining helplessly as her pleasure spikes and sends her over the edge. “Bellamy,  _ Bellamy.”  _

His hips stutter, and he finds his own release just as she's beginning to come down from hers. He groans out her name, folding himself over her back and pressing his face to her neck, his chest heaving. 

Once they're both suitably spent, he sags over to the side, tugging her with him. He's still naked, she's still in her dress, and they're both panting messes as they curl up together. She kisses him softly, reaching up to brush the pads of her fingers over his cheek, and they break apart all at once. The moment is quiet and still, almost like the world has paused to let them catch their breaths—it's never done that for anything else, but with Bellamy, Clarke has experienced this kind of peace many times. 

They don't say it, but the way they lay together, staring into each other's eyes...it practically bleeds with  _ I love you _ . 

The unsaid words echo around them, and Clarke presses her head to Bellamy's chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. The world begins to turn once more, but Clarke doesn't mind. 

* * *

“Hey, Raven…” 

Clarke pulls the radio away from her mouth, frowning up at the sky. It's been a while since she's actually tried the radio, and she can't bring herself to feel guilty about it. There's never an answer, no one comes down from Space, and the bunker stays shut. 

“Can I talk to her?” Madi asks, climbing up on the hood of the Rover, her tone hesitant. 

She hasn't spoken into the radio since the first birthday they gave her. Clarke remembers Bellamy suggesting it, just to give them a reason to celebrate something, plus Madi was getting older. They have no way of knowing her  _ actual  _ birthday, but Madi seems to know her age, so that's what they went with. 

Since then, Madi hasn't picked up the radio or asked to use it. Clarke will catch her looking at it sometimes, and she knows for a fact that Madi will watch her and Bellamy talk to Raven every now and again with a hesitant look, like maybe she wants to say something, too. But she never does. 

“Sure,” Clarke says easily, passing the radio over to her, curious despite herself. “Have at it.” 

Madi clears her throat and averts her eyes, bringing the radio up to her mouth. “Hey, Raven, it's Madi. It's, uh, been a while.” She shoots Clarke a quick look, then glances away with a wince. “I never actually told Clarke that I spoke to you before, so maybe I'll get in trouble, but it's worth it. I need to remind you of what I said that day. I'm asking again, Raven, okay? You're so smart and I—I know you can do it. So, please just—just remember what I said.” 

She draws the radio from her mouth, staring up at the sky with wide eyes like she expects a ship to suddenly descend to the ground. When one doesn't, she heaves a sigh and bows her head. 

It's quite possibly one of the most heartbreaking moments of Clarke's life, and she has plenty to choose from and rank. This one is definitely high up there, the way Madi's face drops and clouds with disappointment making Clarke's heart twist sharply in her chest. She wishes that there was some kind of comfort that she could offer, but there isn't. 

It's at this moment that she misses her mom. She would know what to say, or she'd know what to do in the absence of words. All Clarke can think to do is reach over and draw Madi into a hug, stroking her hair and breathing. She has nothing else she can do because this isn't a situation she can fix. 

So, she lies. 

“It's okay, Madi,” Clarke whispers, pulling away and forcing a smile on her face. 

Madi shakes her head. “No, it's not. Those people in the bunker are going to die, and—and no one will come down. It's  _ not  _ okay, Clarke.” 

“Hey,” Clarke says seriously, forcing herself to be strong, “that's not true. They'll come. I promise they'll come, and they'll get that bunker open.” 

“What if they don't?” Madi whispers. 

Clarke cups Madi's face and stares at her, her lips curling up. “They  _ will.”  _

“I wish  _ Praimfaya  _ never happened,” Madi says, tears brimming in her eyes. “It ruined  _ everything.”  _

“It brought us together. Me, you, and Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs. “I'll never regret that.” 

“Really?” Madi sweeps her gaze over Clarke's face, looking so young and innocent in this moment that Clarke wants to wrap her up and shield her from the horrors of the world. 

“Really,” Clarke confirms. 

Madi swallows. “Don't you miss them?” 

“Every single day, but I won't let that stop me from being thankful to have you and Bellamy.” 

“Would you miss me if I was gone?” 

Clarke sucks in a sharp breath. “Madi, there's no one I would miss more. Bellamy and I would find you, no matter what happened, we would find you. We'd never stop until we were all back together.” 

“I wish you could have both.” Madi's tears spill over and her breath shudders out of her. “I—I can't help but think that it's  _ my fault.  _ Maybe the others would be here if—if I wasn't, and Bellamy could see Octavia again, and you could see your mom.” 

“What?” Clarke breathes out. She blinks rapidly in surprise and swipes the tears from Madi's cheeks, scooting closer. “Madi, how does that make any sense? None of this is your fault! How could you think that?” 

Madi shrugs weakly, her mouth trembling. “I don't know. Everyone loses something because they choose me. You and Bellamy aren't the first.” 

Clarke's eyes prick with tears, her heart wrenching in her chest. She knows what that feels like, knows how it feels to think that you're the curse upon the people you love. She wonders what Madi's family lost before  _ Praimfaya,  _ and then thinks that they may have lost their lives to protect her. Of course Madi would draw that connection, even if it's not the least bit true. 

“Hey, listen to me, okay?” Clarke lowers her voice, her tone softening as she ducks her head and holds Madi's gaze. “Don't do that to yourself. I know what you're feeling, I promise I do. There was a time that I knew—that I  _ thought  _ that every bad thing that happened was because of the choices I made. But Madi, the truth is...things just  _ happen  _ sometimes, and we have no choice but to keep going. We can't take back the things we feel guilt for, but we can move forward and be better.” She drags her thumbs under Madi's eyes and smiles sadly. “You're not at fault for what we've lost, so you don't need to feel guilty. Do you know what you  _ are  _ at fault for?” 

“What?” Madi rasps. 

Clarke blinks the tears clinging from her own eyelashes, feeling them drop down her cheeks. “You're the reason that me and Bellamy have been able to be happy  _ despite  _ the things we've lost. We love you  _ so much.  _ You know that, don't you?” 

“I love you too, both of you,” Madi chokes out, closing her eyes as she starts crying in earnest. Over and over, she sobs, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” 

Clarke just drags her close and presses her face to Madi's hair, holding her and rocking her. Together, on top of the Rover, they cry. 

* * *

“Getting close to Madi's birthday. She'll be twelve this year.” 

Clarke hums, running her fingers through Bellamy's hair, his head pillowed on her legs as he munches on venus berries. “Getting close to the end of the year, too. Almost six whole years.”

“Think we have six more in us?” Bellamy asks idly, looking up at her as he holds up a berry. 

“I think so,” Clarke mumbles, dipping down to eat the berry from his fingers. “I think we made it through these last six years fairly well.” 

Bellamy hums. “It's been a long six years for us. Sometimes I wonder how we did it, then I look at Madi and know.”

“Do you ever think about before?” Clarke asks, looking down at him curiously. “Before  _ Praimfaya,  _ back when we were...different.” 

“Have we changed?” Bellamy murmurs, holding her gaze. “Do you think it took the end of the world and a child for us to learn to be better?” 

Clarke swallows. “I don't know. How am I supposed to know that? It's—it's a different world.”

“If it wasn't?” Bellamy prompts, watching her face, scanning her features. “If a war broke out right now, how different do you think  _ we  _ would be?” 

“Don't ask me that, Bellamy,” Clarke rasps, going tense and still, taking a deep breath. “I have done horrible things in a world like that, and I don't want to think of Madi going through that.” 

Bellamy reaches up and tucks some hair behind her ear, eyes filled with sorrow. “We haven't changed, Clarke, not much, and you know that. If  _ anything  _ happened, we would step up and do what we had to do. The only difference? Instead of doing it for our people, we'd do it for Madi.” 

“I won't apologize for that,” Clarke says firmly. 

“Neither will I,” Bellamy whispers. 

Clarke swallows when the silence stretches between them, full of unsaid things. She takes a deep breath and murmurs, “If you could bring back one person, just one, who would it be? Someone who's dead that you wish you could have saved.” 

“That's a pretty long list,” Bellamy says wryly, his gaze snapping to Clarke's. “Why are you asking me this?” 

“Because I want to know how much we've changed.” 

“Who would you save?” 

“My dad,” Clarke admits in a hoarse whisper. “If he were here, I wouldn't—I'd be someone else. Everything would be different, and  _ maybe  _ things would have been better. He was so  _ human,  _ you know? And I think, somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what that felt like. If I had him, maybe all the others on my list would still be alive.” 

“You can't blame yourself forever, Clarke,” Bellamy says quietly, watching her with anguished eyes. 

Clarke looks away because she knows that she can, and she will. “Who would you save?” 

“Lincoln,” Bellamy admits, frowning. “For—for Octavia. The day he died...she changed, and she'll never be the same because of that. If I could save her that pain, that misery, I would. She didn't deserve to lose him.” 

“No,” Clarke whispers, “she didn't.” 

“So, how much have we changed, Princess?” Bellamy asks her, staring up at her expectantly. 

Clarke thinks about the fact that she chose her dad, the one person whose death changed her life forever and led her on this path. Not for her mother, not even—as selfish as it is—for the sake of having her father back. No, she'd bring him back because she knows he'd have shouldered her burden so she didn't have to, knows he would have reminded her who she was when she forgot, knows he would have prevented her from ever believing that there was only one choice, even if there was. She would save him because he would save her, and in turn, save all the people she's at fault for killing—so, in short, she'd do it all for her people, even if it's also for selfish reasons, too. 

Clarke thinks about the fact that Bellamy chose Lincoln, the one person that Octavia needed more than she needed him. Not because Lincoln would have been a good ally to have far past his death, not even—as horrible as it is—for the belief that Lincoln should have never died in the first place. No, he'd bring him back because he knows that Octavia will forever be changed without him, knows that she'll never fully get over that loss, knows she'll never entirely forgive those she feels have a hand in his death, including Bellamy. He would save him because his love for Octavia is eternal, and in turn, he would give up his desires to bring someone back—his mother, perhaps, or Gina—for his little sister. 

Clarke swallows thickly. “We haven't changed at all.” 

* * *

Madi hops up onto the table, swinging her hair in Bellamy's face with a bright grin. Clarke watches him rear back, blinking rapidly in surprise. 

“Do you like?” Madi asks. 

Bellamy huffs. “Hey, just because you're twelve doesn't mean you're grown and can ignore the rules. Off the table,  _ now.”  _

Rolling her eyes, Madi jumps down but doesn't go far, inching closer and waving her hair more insistently. “Okay, but do you  _ like it?  _ I have to clean up  _ and  _ cook for two weeks.” 

“Oh no, that's not happening. Clean up, yes. Cooking? No.” Bellamy shakes his head and reaches out to grab her hair, looking at the dyed strands. “And yes, I like it. Pretty.” 

“Thank you,” Madi says, pleased. She shoots Clarke a triumphant look. “So, no cooking, then?” 

Clarke looks at Bellamy with raised eyebrows. “We made a deal. Cooking and cleaning for two weeks if I'd do her hair again.” 

Bellamy purses his lips. “Fine, but I'll help her cook. Sorry, but you know my meals taste better.” 

_ “Randzi,”  _ Madi says, like that's the winning argument, and Clarke has to admit that they both have a point. 

“Okay, sure.” Clarke rolls her eyes and waves a finger between them when they high-five. “I better not catch Madi sneaking off in the Rover while you're cooking, Bellamy, or you'll  _ both  _ be in trouble.” 

Bellamy snorts and winks at Madi. “Better listen to her. She'll make me sleep outside, you know.” 

“Oh, what a tragedy that would be,” Madi says in mock horror, giggling when Bellamy nods sagely in serious agreement. “So, what happens when  _ Clarke  _ is in trouble? Do you make her sleep outside?” 

“I don't get in trouble,” Clarke says, passing Bellamy and pausing to kiss his cheek. 

Bellamy smirks, looking over at Madi. “Don't let her lie to you. Clarke is as much of a rebel as I am. She's just good at hiding it.  _ I  _ embrace it.”

“Rebel?  _ You?”  _ Madi laughs at Bellamy, eyes bright with genuine mirth. “Please. You just tease her, hunt things, cook them, build some stuff, flirt with her, and write your books.” 

“What?” Bellamy looks affronted, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “You don't think I'm a rebel? Hey, you're looking at the leader of all those bad delinquents you love hearing stories about.”

“Co-leader,” Clarke says, lips twitching. 

Madi shrugs. “Sounds like you two just told people how to be badasses, then they did it.” 

“Hey,” Bellamy says, pointing at her, “we are badasses, too. Don't you forget that.” 

“I'm pretty sure  _ Skairipa  _ is a bigger badass than you two.” Madi tilts her head. “So is Raven and Murphy.” 

“Okay, I draw the line at Murphy,” Bellamy declares, but his eyes are soft and he's laughing. 

Clarke smiles and jerks her head towards the house, looking at Madi. “Go on, go inside and get out of that dress. Don't come out until you finish your math problems, and be done by supper.” 

“Fine,” Madi says with a sigh and a groan. She smiles as she fiddles with her hair and runs inside. 

Bellamy looks over at her with raised eyebrows, and Clarke just sighs. Her smile slips off her face as she steps forward and leans into him. She sags in relief, closing her eyes, pressing her mouth against his shoulder and inhaling  _ him.  _ His arms come up and circle around her, holding her. 

“Six years,” Bellamy whispers. “You did good, distracting her today.” 

Clarke clears her throat and doesn't pull away, simply resting her cheek against his chest. “She wanted to go to Polis, but I just...couldn't. Today marks six years exactly, and I don't want to think about it anymore.”

Bellamy brushes his lips over her head. “Don't give up hope, Clarke. We can't do that. We need hope, and Madi needs us to have it.” 

“I know,” Clarke murmurs.

“Hey,” Bellamy says gently, easing her away to peer at her seriously, “we  _ will  _ get through this. We made it through five years, then a sixth, and we'll make it through another one if we have to.” 

“What if we have to make it through the rest of our lives, Bellamy?” 

“Then that's what we'll do.” 

Clarke releases a heavy exhale and flicks her gaze up to the sky. “What do you think they're doing up there?” 

“Trying to figure out how to get down here,” Bellamy replies without missing a beat. “And they'll figure it out, Clarke. You  _ know  _ they will, even if it takes a little longer than we hoped.” 

“Do you wish you were up there with them?” Clarke whispers, searching his eyes. “When—when that rocket took off, and  _ Praimfaya  _ was coming, did you wish you had left when I told you to?”

Bellamy huffs a weak laugh, reaching out to gingerly cup her cheek. “Clarke, even when I thought I was going to die, I was glad I wasn't on that rocket. I said it then, and I'll say it now, because it was true then, and it's true now. Either we both make it, or neither of us do. It's that simple.” 

“If you were with them, you would think that I was dead right now,” Clarke rasps, her heart dropping. 

“Yeah, I would.” Bellamy frowns, his brow furrowing as he takes a deep breath. “It would have ripped me up inside, and when I would have inevitably made it back to the ground, I would have been  _ so happy.”  _

Clarke licks her lips. “Do you think—I mean, if that happened, do you think we would have ended up together? Or, are we together because of this?” 

“I don't know,” Bellamy murmurs. “I have no idea if we would end up together, but I do know this. I have loved you a long time, Clarke, and six years in Space wouldn't have changed that. Whether I think you are dead or alive, whether we are apart or together, I'm always going to love you. Even if there was a reason we weren't together, that would still be true.” 

_ “Bellamy…”  _ Clarke trails off, blinking around the tears in her eyes. He brushes them away with the pad of his thumb, and she surges forward to kiss him, bright and intense, only to pull away and reach up to grip his face in her hands. “Bellamy Blake, you are my  _ heart, _ and I need you. I will  _ always  _ need you. And, no matter what, I will always love you, too. There's nothing in the world that could change that.” 

“I'm so in love with you that nothing  _ hurts,”  _ Bellamy whispers harshly. “It's the only time I've ever felt that without guilt. You have no idea…” 

“I think I do,” Clarke counters with a wet laugh, reaching up to wrap her arms around him. He holds her close, and she closes her eyes. “I'm so in love with you that I'm not guilty, Bellamy. It's the only time I've never felt the need for atonement.”

“Why are we like this?” Bellamy murmurs in her ear, his voice a weak rasp. It's like he just cracked open their chests and asked  _ why are we broken inside?  _

Clarke takes a deep breath, releases it, and pulls him as close as he can get. “Because the head and the heart feel the most, and we can't change who we are. We can only change what we do.” 

“So what do we do?” 

“We keep being us, and we do better.”

* * *

The first day after the sixth year comes and goes. Bellamy goes fishing with Madi. They come back. Madi gets through her lessons, gets in the Rover, and goes exploring. Clarke draws while Bellamy starts building another chair, and then they have sex in their own bed, curling up and basking in the afterglow. Madi comes home, they all train together, have supper, then they go to bed. 

The second day into the seventh year is just like the one before it, but Clarke finishes her drawing. It's Emori this time, and she has to reference an old drawing to get her tattoo right because she can no longer recall from memory. Bellamy gets angry at his chair and breaks it apart with his hammer, then takes his frustrations out through rough sex that Clarke enjoys  _ immensely.  _ Madi brings home dinner, and she sings her own praises for taking it down by herself.

The third day is a rainy day. It had started raining while they slept, and it continues to do so for the entire day. They go into their stock of food and laze around the house, used to this routine by now after having their fair share of rainy days. They clean up the house, make it nice and neat, and Madi complains as Clarke and Bellamy test her on her lessons just to pass the time. The downpour lasts well on into the night, lulling them all into sleep. 

Day four of the seventh year is a bit different. They all take a trip to a lake they don't always frequent, one a bit further from the Village. Madi drives the Rover there while Bellamy cracks jokes the entire trip and Clarke pretends not to laugh uproariously at them. They make a whole day of it at the lake, camping beside it, and going in and out of the water at their leisure. Bellamy drags Clarke into his arms and kisses her sweetly as Madi makes retching noises and splashes them, not even trying to hide her smile. 

They get back home on the fifth day, and it's much like the first. Madi takes off in the Rover the moment she gets a chance, but she takes a satchel with her and agrees to gather some more things for Clarke that is needed to make her soaps. Bellamy lays Clarke down and brings her to releases with his mouth over and over until she can't take it anymore and pins him down to ride him with tears of pleasure pricking her eyes. Clarke takes a nap afterwards because she is completely wrung out, and Bellamy struts around in a self-satisfied manner for the rest of the day, even going as far to laugh when Madi calls him weird when she gets home after her day out. 

On the sixth day, they all sleep in. For no reason at all, they just lay around in the house, not wanting to get up just yet. Madi doesn't leave, sticks close to them, and she walks around in her dress, smiling. Bellamy kisses Clarke's fingers every time she passes him as she walks back and forth across the Village to get different perspectives on it, that way she can get it right when she draws it. They eat their fill, maybe even more than they usually do, and it's one of those nights that they all cuddle up around the fire, telling stories and basking in each other's company. 

The seventh day doesn't feel any different. There's nothing special about it, not really. Bellamy starts to rebuild his chair, Madi reads over the book he just recently finished for her morning lesson, and Clarke gets the Rover ready to head out to the ridge where she pretends she has hope. Bellamy opts to stay at the Village when Clarke informs him that she's going to make a whole day out of it, and Madi insists on going even though she wants to nap in the back on the way.

Madi is still sleeping when Clarke heaves a deep sigh and carries the radio over to a rock, staring up at the sky, knowing there's no point. 

“Here we go again,” she says, bringing the radio up to her mouth. “Hey, Raven. It's a week into the seventh year, and I'm not really sure how much longer I can keep hoping. But, for Bellamy and Madi, I will do it for as long as I can. I want you to know that we're happy. We miss you, of course we do, but you should know that we're okay. We're always going to be as long as we have each other. So, you come down when you can, but don't think for a  _ second  _ that we haven't made a life for ourselves here. Because we have. And Raven, I hope that, one day, so will everyone else.” 

Just then, like a miracle burning to life before her very eyes, the sky opens up. Something comes tumbling down in the distance, and Clarke pushes to her feet, her heart racing in her chest. Excitement, fear,  _ hope.  _

Her mind turns to Octavia, to Bellamy's little sister and Madi's favorite hero. To her mother, and Kane, and Indra, Miller, Jackson… She contemplates them all and plays over in her head what their faces will look like when they see the sun again. She wonders how hard Bellamy will grip his sister in a hug, and she wonders if her mother's hair will smell the same, and she wonders if Madi will cry when she smiles. 

Her mind shifts to Raven, the person Clarke has always had endless respect for and the one smart enough to get them through anything. To Monty, and Harper, Murphy, Emori, even Echo… She imagines their faces when they realize that she and Bellamy are  _ alive.  _ She pictures the way Murphy will crack a joke around a small smile, and she pictures the way Raven's eyes will glitter with joy as she seeks them out for hugs, and she pictures their tenderness towards Madi when they learn how important she is.

She thinks about all they've lost and all they've gained, and she thinks about the words  _ may we meet again.  _ She thinks about Madi smiling, about Bellamy's arms around her, about Polis in ruins. She looks at the dot in the sky, and she thinks about hope. 

How it ebbs and flows like a tide, rushing in and seeping out, retreating but always coming back. 

Breathlessly, Clarke brings the radio up to her mouth, her eyes burning with unshed tears, and she says, “And that day is today. I see you…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bursts into tears* 
> 
> Listen y'all, I just wanna say that all of this feedback has been so lovely and wonderful. I honestly did not expect it at all. I'm open to more thoughts! Did we like the ending? 
> 
> Well, if you DIDN'T like the ending because it's kind of open-ended, or you just plain want more, I got some good news for you ;) 
> 
> It's true, I have zero restraint, and I went ahead and did an entire season 5 rewrite as a sequel to this fic. I saw some of you interested in what would happen when Eligius came into play and what would happen when those in Space and those in the Bunker got back. You're in luck, because I wrote that! 
> 
> Now, some of you are content to just leave this fic where it is and be glad of this experience, and that's perfectly fine. It was a rollercoaster, admittedly, and the sequel is, too. If you're ready to get off this rollercoaster, that's valid and you can do that as you wish, because I'm not adding chapters. The sequel will be going into a series, so this fic is technically finished. 
> 
> For those of you who want more, tune in next Friday for the beginning of a bumpy ride. And strap in, because I really do not have any restraint, and I go all-in with that one, too. Subscribe to the series, or just come back next Friday, if you do want more!
> 
> I will be keeping the same schedule as this fic, so it'll come every Friday. 
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading. If you enjoyed, don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and leave a comment; I sincerely cherish every single one. Thank you ❤ 
> 
> Ta! 
> 
> -SOBS


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